


. 



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Class _L-i 



Book 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



WINGED WARFARE 

MAJOR WILLIAM A. BISHOP 
V.C., D.S.O., M.C. 




WINGED WARFARE 

BY 

MAJOR WILLIAM A. BISHOP 
V.C., D.S.O., M.C. 



Illustrated 



NEW YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 















COPYRIGHT, 1918, 
BY GEORGE EL DORAN COMPANY 



MAY || 1918 



COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



<?*> 



©CI.A494994 



PUBLISHERS PREFACE 

HERE for the first time is presented the 
thrilling personal narrative of a living 
champion of the air — the self -told story of Ma- 
jor William A. Bishop, of Canada and the Brit- 
ish Royal Flying Corps. 

The comparatively recent deaths of Ball, the 
wonderful little English airman, and Guyne- 
mer, the daredevil French "ace," left Bishop, in a 
sense, alone in the air. He and Ball, in friendly 
rivalry, were flying almost wing to wing in the 
British service until Ball one day, roaming far 
over the German lines and revelling, as usual, in 
a one-sided battle with three enemy planes, met 
the "unlucky bullet" that sent him crashing to an 
untimely death at twenty years. 

Major Bishop flew over three months after 
this, and his score of victories continued to mount 
until he held undisputed sway and had full credit 
for forty-seven German machines actually de- 
stroyed. In addition he had also successfully at- 
tacked and burned two enemy observation bal- 
loons. Major Bishop was winner in perhaps a 
hundred other fights in that strange high air 
where the duellists of the clouds meet and die — 



Vi PUBLISHER'S PREFACE 

winner in the sense that the German planes were 
driven from the air, compelled by wounds or fear 
to break off the battle and dash for the safety of 
the terrain far behind their infantry lines. 

Major Bishop, possessor of the most coveted of 
war honours, the only living man with the Victo- 
ria Cross, the Distinguished Service Order, twice 
won, and the Military Cross, is now a veteran of 
23. The most amazing feature of the wonderful 
record he made above the lines in France and 
Flanders is that he attained the flying honours of 
the world in a single fighting season. 

So brilliant was his career in the greatest aerial 
year of the war — 1917 — Major Bishop, in addi- 
tion to the rare war medals personally bestowed 
by the king, won a still more singular honour — 
the right to live. Like Guynemer, like Ball, like 
Immelman, like Boelke, Bishop could not always 
have set at nought the inexorable laws of chance. 
He must eventually have met the fate of the other 
"aces" had not his thorough mastery of all the 
arts of war flying made him so valuable that the 
British higher command decided he must wing his 
way no more across the lines in search of the 
strange enemy birds of the iron crosses, but should 
be assigned to the wider work of seeing to it that 
other young British airmen were started aright in 
the way they should go — with some of his daunt- 
less spirit of victory inculcated in them. 



PUBLISHER'S PREFACE vii 

Unlike the French and German airmen, who 
are "mentioned in despatches" after "crashing" 
five or more enemy planes, Bishop and the other 
intrepid British flyers have "carried on" in the 
self-imposed seclusion of anonymity so far as the 
outer world is concerned. Through the medium 
of a service communique, confined to the army 
alone, their brothers of the wings have known of 
their more striking achievements. But the Brit- 
ish public has known nothing of the personality 
of its flying men until the bestowal of some dis- 
tinguished decoration has picked one out from 
among his fellows and engraved his name on the 
flaming honour roll of The Official Gazette. 
There are twoscore "aces" in the Royal Flying 
Corps whose names the world has never heard. 
English, Canadian and even American newspa- 
pers have urged that the French, German and 
Italian policies of mentioning their heroes of the 
air be adopted by Great Britain. It invariably 
has been the Flying Corps itself which has nega- 
tived the proposition. And yet they are little 
more than children, these mere boys who have 
brought the lustre of everlasting fame to the 
British aviation service. Some are scarce 18. It 
is rare to find a flying man over 25. They have 
sacrificed their lives when need be, with a willing 
bravery that knows no self-regard. They seem 
content with the knowledge that when they have 



viii PUBLISHER'S PREFACE 

"done their bit" there are scores and scores of 
other young fellows training at home to take 
their places. 

The flying service has made a quick appeal to 
the imagination of America. It is tedious to fol- 
low the tortuous windings of a war map, but a 
battle in the air ! ah ! — that is not difficult for the 
fancy to picture. It may conjure up a rare win- 
ter morning in Northern France — pale blue sky, 
thin silver sunshine, a freshening breeze, and just 
a fringe of leaden clouds sulkily tinting the dis- 
tant horizon. Or the sunset glory of a midsum- 
mer evening, the fields red, aeroplanes that flash 
in the last golden rays of the departing day — 
scouting, fighting, diving, spinning, falling at 
times like fluttering leaves, only to "flatten out" 
later and streak across the battle lines with the 
speed of a beam of light. The aeroplane lifts 
you out of the sordid grime of every-day war 
into land of dreams and seeming unreality. 

But Major Bishop in his book makes a grim 
reality of that dream-world of the heavens. He 
takes you with him three — four — miles high, lets 
you look with him straight into the eyes of a de- 
termined German foe, lets you "feel" with him 
the exaltation of the fight, lets you dive with him 
"onto the tail" of an out-manoeuvred adversary, 
and lets you gaze with him in awe-stricken won- 
der at the smoke-tracing bullets that you actually 



PUBLISHER'S PREFACE ix 

see finding their billets in the body or brain of 
the beaten enemy. Lastly he lets you spiral down 
with him to within a thousand feet of the ground, 
far over the German lines, in order that you may 
clearly see the "crash" of the luckless pilot you 
taunted into combat. 

In the book you follow the V. C. airman on 
many of his most amazing adventures. You 
"dig in" with him behind a bit of sheltering cloud, 
you pounce with him upon a formation of six or 
eight enemy machines, you hear the taut cloth of 
your wings ripping under a torrent of machine- 
gun bullets, you are dazed by the desperate 
chances you must take, and in the end you do not 
wonder that the modest little major from Can- 
ada has won so many medals of valour — your real 
wonder is that he was alive to receive them from 
the king. 

Major Bishop spent the last two months of the 
old year in the United States giving the benefit 
of his bravely won experience to the American 
directors of the aviation service. His book will 
prove an inspiration to every young man already 
in the army "wings" or who contemplates a flying 
career. 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Major W. A. Bishop V.C., D.S.O., M.C. Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Major Bishop Seated in a Plane in the Aero- 
drome 20 

Machines on the Aviation Field Ready to As- 
cend 32 

A Royal Flying Corps Aeroplane Flying Over 
German Trenches in France 48 

Major Bishop Standing in Front of One of His 
Planes 64 

Kite-Balloon in Observation Service — Pulling 
Her In 80 

Mouquet Farm Before and After Shelling . 112 

Photograph of a Town in France, Taken From 
the Air 144 

Well-Earned Hours of Leisure 170 

An Unrehearsed Landing 192 

Major Bishop and "Nigger" 240 

A German Gas-Attack Photographed From the 
Air 264 



XI 



WINGED WARFARE 



WINGED WARFARE 



CHAPTER I 

IT was the mud, I think, that made me take 
to flying. I had fully expected that going 
into battle would mean for me the saddle of a 
galloping charger, instead of the snug little cock- 
pit of a modern aeroplane. The mud, on a cer- 
tain day in July, 1915, changed my whole career 
in the war. 

We were in England. I had gone over as an 
officer of the Missisauga Horse of Toronto in a 
Cavalry Unit of the Second Canadian Division. 
It had rained for days in torrents, and there was 
still a drizzle coming down as I set out for a tour 
of the horse lines. 

Ordinary mud is bad enough, when you have 
to make your home in it, but the particular brand 
of mud that infests a cavalry camp has a mean- 
ness all its own. Everything was dank, and slimy, 
and boggy. I had succeeded in getting myself 
mired to the knees when suddenly, from some- 
where out of the storm, appeared a trim little 
aeroplane. 

17 



18 WINGED WARFARE 

It landed hesitatingly in a nearby field as if 
scorning to brush its wings against so sordid 
a landscape; then away again up into the clean 
grey mists. 

How long I stood there gazing into the dis- 
tance I do not know, but when I turned to slog 
my way back through the mud my mind was made 
up. I knew there was only one place to be on 
such a day — up above the clouds and in the sum- 
mer sunshine. I was going into the battle that 
way. I was going to meet the enemy in the air. 

I had never given much thought to being a sol- 
dier, even after my parents had sent me to the 
Royal Military College at Kingston, when I was 
seventeen years of age. I will say for my parents 
that they had not thought much of me as a pro- 
fessional soldier either. But they did think, for 
some reason or other, that a little of the discipline 
at the Royal Military College would do me a lot 
of good — and I suppose it did. 

In any event, those three years at the R.M.C. 
stood me in good stead when the rush came in 
Canada; when everywhere, everybody was doing 
his best to get taken on in some capacity in order 
to get to the front quickly. 

We Canadians will never forget the thrill of 
those first days of the war, and then the terrible 
waiting before most of us could get to the other 
side. Our great fear was that the fighting would 



WINGED WARFARE 19 

all be over before we could give a hand in it. How 
little we knew then of the glory that was to be 
Canada's in the story of the Western Front: of 
the sacrifices that were to reach to nearly every 
fireside in the Dominion. 

For many months my bi£ seemed to consist of 
training, more training, delays and more delays. 
But at last we got over. We crossed in an old- 
time cattle boat. Oh, what a trip ! Fifteen days 
to reach England ! We had seven hundred horses 
on board, and seven hundred sea-sick horses are 
not the most congenial steamer company. 

We were very proud to be in England. We 
felt we were really in the war-zone, and soon 
would be in the fighting. But it is a great mis- 
take to think that when you sail from America 
you are going to burst right up to the front and 
go over the top at daybreak in the morning. The 
way to the war is long. There was more work 
and more training for us in England. At first 
we were sent to a very sandy camp near Folke- 
stone and from there to a very muddy camp some- 
where else in the British Isles. 

It was to this camp that the aeroplane came 
that stormy day in July. A week later my plans 
were in motion. I met a friend in the Royal Fly- 
ing Corps and confided to him my ambition to 
fly. He assured me it would be easy to arrange 
a transfer, and instructed me as to what I should 



20 WINGED WARFARE 

do. If I wanted to get to the front quickly I would 
have to go as an observer, meaning that when I 
flew over the German lines I would be the "pas- 
senger" in a two-seated plane and would do just 
what my title indicated — observe. 

If one has a stomach for flying, it doesn't take 
long to become a fairly competent observer. 
There are observer schools where they teach you 
just what to observe and what not to observe. 
This is not a joke. If an observer lets his gaze 
wander to too many non-essentials he cannot do 
the real observing that is expected of him. 

A few more days of cavalry mud and I was 
convinced that to be an observer in the air was 
better far than commanding a division on the 
ground. So I applied for my transfer, got it, and 
went to observing school. I loved those first few 
flights in an old training "bus." I don't think 
she could make more than fifty miles an hour, 
and as for climbing, she struggled and shook and 
gasped like a freight train going up a mountain 
grade. But it was thrilling enough for me in 
those days, despite the fact that I soon began 
to envy the pilot who had all the fun of running 
the machine and could make it do a few lame 
and decrepit stunts. 

After a few months I was graduated as an ob- 
server and was awarded my first insignia of the 
Flying Corps — an O., with one outstretched 




MAJOR BISHOP SEATED IN A PLANE 
IN THE AERODROME 



WINGED WARFARE 21 

wing attached to it, to be worn on the left breast 
of the tunic. I was rather proud of that one 
wing, but more determined than ever to win the 
double wings of a full-fledged pilot, and some 
day have a machine of my own. 

In a very short time I was in France and ready 
for my first trip over the enemy lines. As I look 
back upon it now my life as an observer seems 
very tame. The work of the reconnaissance and 
artillery machines, as well as the photography 
and bombing planes, is very important. It goes 
on day and night, in good weather and bad, but 
all the times I was observing I wanted to be fight- 
ing. .Whenever I would see one of the small, 
swift single-seater machines, which were just 
coming into vogue then for fighting purposes, my 
resolves to become a fighting pilot would grow 
stronger and stronger. 

But far be it from me to detract one iota from 
the work of the observers. They take enormous 
risks and seldom get any of the glory. The 
men in the Corps recognise and appreciate the 
quality of their work, but the public at large rare- 
ly hears of them. The feats of the fighting planes 
form the spectacular and fascinating side of fly- 
ing, but in a sense the daily drudgery of the 
bombers, the photographers and the observers is 
of even greater value to the fighting men of the 
ground. 



22 WINGED WARFARE 

It is no child's play to circle above a German 
battery observing for half an hour or more, with 
your machine tossing about in air tortured by ex- 
ploding shells and black shrapnel puffballs com- 
ing nearer and nearer to you like the ever-extend- 
ing finger tips of some giant hand of death. But 
it is just a part of the never ceasing war. In the 
air service this work is never done. Everywhere 
along the line the big guns wait daily for the wire- 
less touch of aeroplanes to set them booming at 
targets carefully selected from a previous day of 
observation. Big shells cannot be wasted. The 
human effort involved in creating them and plac- 
ing them beside the well-screened guns at the 
front is far too great for that. 

Every shell must be watched. It is a startling 
thing, but true. When we possess the high ground 
and the ridges, it is not always necessary for the 
aeroplanes or the balloons to do the observing; 
the artillery observing officer can go forward on 
the ground and from a convenient tree-top, a bit 
of trench or a sheltering shell-hole see exactly 
what his guns are doing. 

Every day there are hundreds of photographs 
to be taken so that the British map-makers can 
trace each detail of the German trench positions 
and can check up on any changes in the enemy 
zone. Information is to be gained at all times by 
all manner of reconnaissances — some of them 



WINGED WARFARE 23 

carrying you fifty to sixty miles in the enemy 
country. Then, there is the fighting patrol work 
which goes on at all hours. The patrol is not on 
our side of the line. It is far over the German 
lines to keep the enemy machines from coming 
too close even to their own front trenches. Of 
course they do slip over occasionally, but more 
than often have to pay for their temerity. 

The British infantryman — Mr. Tommy Atkins 
— takes it as a personal insult to have a Hun ma- 
chine flying over him. It shouldn't be done, he 
says, and he grouses about it for weeks. How dif- 
ferent with the German infantryman. Our planes 
are on top of them most of the time. The Huns 
used to write wrathful letters home about it. 
Sometimes our infantry has captured these let- 
ters before they were posted and they used to 
amuse us when we would get them in the daily 
army reports. I remember one particularly 
peevish old Boche who wrote last May: 

"The air activity where we are is very great. 
The English will soon be taking the very caps 
off our heads." 

It is great fun to fly very low along the Ger- 
man trenches and give them a burst of machine- 
gun bullets as a greeting in the morning, or a 
good-night salute in the evening. They don't like 
it a bit. But we love it ; we love to see the Kaiser's 



24 WINGED WARFARE 

proud Prussians running for cover like so many 
rats. 

Whatever your mission, whether it be to di- 
rect artillery fire, to photograph, to bomb an am- 
munition dump or supply train, or just to look 
old Fritz over and see in a general way what he 
is up to, your first journey into Hunland is a 
memorable event in your life. I may say here 
in passing, that in the Flying Corps a German 
is seldom anything but a Hun, and the territory 
back of his lines is seldom anything but Hunland. 
Our general orders tell us to designate a Hun 
plane as an "enemy aircraft" in our reports, or 
"E. A." for short, but nevertheless we always 
think of both the machine and the pilot as a 
Hun, and they wil] ever be. 

If it is artillery work you are on, you have 
learned to send down signals to your battery by 
means of a wireless buzzer, and you are equipped 
with intricate zone maps that enable you to pick 
out all manner of fixed objects in the enemy's 
domain. You can locate his dugouts, his dumps, 
his lines of communication, his battery positions, 
his shelters behind the trees, and in a general 
way keep tabs on his "ways that are dark, and 
tricks that are vain." 

The day for your trip over happens to be one 
of wondrous sunshine and the clearest possible 
visibility. At every aerodrome behind the long 



WINGED WARFARE 2$ 

British war-line the aeroplanes are out of their' 
hangars, and are being tested with such a babel 
of noisy explosions that in moving about with a 
companion you have to fairly shout to make your- 
self heard. With your pilot you climb into the 
waiting two-seater. It has been groomed for the 
day and fussed over with as much care as a 
mother might bestow upon her only offspring 
starting for Sunday school. 

"Contact, sir?" questions a mechanic standing 
at the propeller. 

"Contact," repeats the pilot. 

There is a click of the electric ignition switch, 
the propeller is given a sharp swing over, and 
the engine starts with a roar. Once or twice 
there is a cough, but pretty soon she is "hitting" 
just right on every one of her multiple cylinders. 
It is all the mechanics can do to hold her back. 
Then the pilot throttles down to a very quiet little 
purr and signals to the attendants to draw away 
the chocks from under the wheels. Slowly you 
move forward under your own "steam" and 
"taxi" across the field rather bumpily, to head her 
into the wind. This accomplished, the throttle 
is opened wide, you rush forward with increas- 
ing speed, you feel the tail of the machine leave 
the ground, and then you go leaping into space. 

You climb in great wide circles above the aero- 
drome, rig up the wireless, send a few test sig- 



V6 WINGED WARFARE 

nals, get back the correct responses, and arrange 
your maps, while the pilot, with one eye on his 
instruments and the other on familiar landmarks, 
sets sail for the German lines, gaining height all 
the while. On the way to the lines you pass over 
your battery and send wireless word that you are 
ready to "carry on." It is to be a day of "coun- 
ter-battery" work, which means that some of our 
batteries are going to "do in" some of the Hun 
batteries. The modern guns of war are very 
temperamental and restless. They get tired of 
firing at infantry trenches and roads and things, 
and more often go to shooting at each other. In 
this you help them all you can. 

And now you come to make the acquaintance of 
"Archie," who will pursue you through all your 
flying days at the front. "Archie" is a presump- 
tuous person and takes the liberty of speaking 
first. 

"Woof! Woof!" he barks out. Then— 
"Hiss-s-s. Bang! Bang!" Two flashes of crim- 
son fire, and two swirling patches of black smoke 
jump out of the air a hundred yards or so in 
front of you. 

The experienced pilot swerves a little, neatly 
avoids the next volley which breaks far to your 
right. "Archie" keeps barking at you for quite 
a while and you seem to be leaving a perfect trail 
of diffusing black smoke balls in your wake. The 



WINGED WARFARE 27 

pilot looks back at you and grins. He wonders 
if you have the "wind up" — army talk for being 
scared to death. It isn't any disgrace to get the 
"wind up" at the war, and there are few of us who 
can truthfully say we haven't had a queerish sort 
of feeling every now and then. 

"Archie," of course, is an anti-aircraft cannon. 
How the airmen first happened to name him 
"Archibald" I do not know; it was when we got 
to know him better, and fear him less, that we be- 
gan to call him "Archie." With "Archie" it is 
the old story of familiarity breeding contempt, 
but of late the German "Archie" family has mul- 
tiplied to such an extent as to almost make it 
dangerous to go visiting across the Hun lines. 
The German shrapnel shells are nearly always 
mixed with high-explosives. They are very noisy, 
but most of the time your engine is making such 
clatter that the explosive efforts to wing you in 
flight go entirely unnoticed. 

Leaving the border-guarding "Archies" far 
behind, you fly on until you pick up the four 
mounds that indicate the German battery posi- 
tion. You fly rather low to get a good look at it. 
The Huns generally know what your coming 
means and they prepare to take cover. You re- 
turn a little way toward your own lines and sig- 
nal to your battery to fire. In a moment you see 
the flash of a big gun. Then nothing seems to 



28 WINGED WARFARE 

happen for an eternity. As a matter of fact 
twenty to thirty seconds elapse and then fifty 
yards beyond the German battery you see a spurt 
of grey-black earth spring from the ground. You 
signal a correction of the range. The next shot 
goes fifty yards short. In artillery language 
you have "bracketed" your target. You again 
signal a correction, giving a range just in be- 
tween the first two shots. The next shell that 
goes over explodes in a gunpit. 

"Good shooting," you signal to the battery, 
"carry on." This particular battery is silenced 
for good and all. "Archie" tries for you again as 
you return across the lines, but his range finding 
is very bad to-day. You salute your battery as 
you sail over, then land a few minutes later at 
the aerodrome well satisfied with your three 
hours' work. 

You have been to Hunland, and you feel your 
career in the air has really begun. 



CHAPTER II 

ALTOGETHER I spent four months in 
France as an observer. How I longed dur- 
ing all that time for a flight in the air, but no real 
chances came, and finally I quit my seat as a pas- 
senger without having fired a single combat shot 
though the tidy little machine-gun that was al- 
ways near me seemed to yearn as much as I did 
to have a go at the enemy. 

I injured my knee after an observing trip 
one day, when the pilot crashed the machine in 
landing, and while I did not have to go to hos- 
pital with it, it gradually grew worse until May, 
1916, when I had to lay up several months for 
repairs. 

My sick leave over, I reported for duty again 
and got a real surprise. I was told I could learn 
to fly ! This made me happier than I can express. 
I pictured myself in one of the swift little fight- 
ing planes I had seen in France, and I felt in 
my heart of hearts that I would make good. I 
already knew what it felt like to fly, I knew the 
language of the air, the esprit of the Corps, and 
some of the heart-palpitating peculiarities of our 

29 



30 WINGED WARFARE 

best-balanced engines. But all this time I had 
been a sort of innocent bystander. Now at last 
I was going into the air "on my own." 

The first step was to go to a school of instruc- 
tion — a ground school — where the theory of fly- 
ing and the mechanical side of aviation are ex- 
pounded to you. I went through these courses, 
and by special permission was allowed to take 
my examination three weeks earlier than would 
have been the case in the ordinary course of 
events. I worked like a Trojan, and passed with- 
out much difficulty. Then was to come the real 
part of it all, the part for which I had waited 
over a year. 

On the first of November, 1916, I was sent to 
another school — for elementary training in the 
air. This consisted first of all in going up in an- 
other old machine — a steady type called the Mau- 
rice Fernam and fitted with a dual set of controls, 
so that the instructor could manage one while I 
tried to manage the other. Never will I forget 
those days of dual control. I tried very hard, 
but it seemed to me I just could not get the 
proper "feel" of the machine. First the instruc- 
tor would tell me I was "ham-handed" — that I 
gripped the controls too tightly with every muscle 
tense. After that I would get what you might 
call timid-handed, and not hold the controls 
tightly enough. My instructor and I both suf- 



WINGED WARFARE 31 

fered tortures. So when suddenly one day he 
told me I could go up alone, I had my doubts as 
to whether it was confidence or desperation that 
dictated his decision. I didn't worry long as to 
which it was; I was willing to take the chance. 

Then followed my first solo! This is, I think, 
the greatest day in a flying man's life. Certainly 
I did not stop talking about it for the next three 
weeks at least. I felt a great and tender pity 
for all the millions of people in the world who 
never have a chance to do a solo ! 

An ambulance stood on the aerodrome, and it 
seemed to me, as it has to many another student- 
pilot, that all the other business of flying had 
suddenly ceased so that everybody could look at 
me. I noticed with a shiver that the ambulance 
had its engine running. Were the doctors at the 
hospital expectantly fondling their knives? 
Everybody looked cold-blooded and heartless. 
But I had to do it — so into the machine I crawled, 
trying to look cheerful, but feeling awful lone- 
some. How I got off the ground I do not know, 
but once in the air it was not nearly so bad — not 
much worse than the first time you started down 
hill on an old-fashioned bicycle. 

I wasn't taking any liberties. I flew as 
straight ahead as I could, climbing steadily alt 
the time. But at last I felt I had to turn, and I 
tried a very slow, gradual one, not wanting to 



32 WINGED WARFARE 

bank either too steeply or too little. They told me 
afterward I did some remarkable skidding on that 
turn, but I was blissfully ignorant of a little de- 
tail like that and went gaily on my way. I banked 
a little more on my next turn and didn't skid so 
much. 

For a time I felt very much pleased with my- 
self circling above the aerodrome, but suddenly 
an awful thought came to me. Somehow or other 
I had to get that machine down to the earth again. 
How blissful it would be if I could just keep 
on flying. At last, however, I screwed up all 
my courage, reached for the throttle, pushed it 
back, and the engine almost stopped. I knew 
the next thing to do was to put her nose down. 
So down it went at a steep angle. I felt it was 
too steep, so I pulled her nose up a bit, then put 
it down again, and in a series of steps descended 
toward the ground 

About forty feet from the ground, however, I 
did everything I had been told to do when two 
feet from the ground. So I made a perfect land- 
ing — only forty feet too high. Eventually I real- 
ised this slight error, and down went her nose 
again. We rapidly got nearer the ground, and 
then I repeated my perfect landing — about eight 
feet up. This time I just sat and suffered, while 
the now thoroughly exasperated old machine tak- 
ing matters into its own hands dropped with a 




MACHINES ON THE AVIATION FIELD 
READY TO ASCEND 



WINGED WARFARE 



"plonk" the intervening distance. There was no 
damage, because the training machines are built 
for such work, and can stand all sorts of hard 
knocks. 

After doing my first solo, I progressed rather 
rapidly, and in a few days was passed on to a 
higher instruction squadron and began to fly more 
warlike machines. I found that to qualify as a 
pilot I had to pass certain tests in night flying. 
This awed me to a certain extent, but it also 
appealed to me, for just two months before, the 
first Zeppelins had been brought down at night 
on English soil by our airmen. I was very anx- 
ious to get taken on for this work, and eventually 
succeeded. 

Night flying is a fearsome thing — but tremen- 
dously interesting. Any one who has ever been 
swimming at night will appreciate what I mean. 
All the familiar objects and landmarks that seem 
so friendly by day, become weird and repellent 
monsters at night. It is simple enough to go up 
in the dark, and simple enough to sail away, but 
it is quite something else to come down again 
without taking off a chimney pot or "strafing" a 
big oak tree. The landing tests are done with the 
help of flares on the ground. My first flight at 
night had most of the thrills of my first solo. I 
"taxied" out to what I thought a good place to 
take off from. The instructor shouted a few last 



34, WINGED WARFARE 

words to me above the noise of the motor. I 
turned the machine to face down the long line of 
lights, opened out the engine, raced along the 
ground, then plunged up into utter blackness. 

I held the controls very carefully and kept my 
eyes glued on the instruments that gleamed 
brightly under little electric bulbs inside the ma- 
chine. I could not see a thing around me; only 
the stars overhead. v Underneath there was a 
great black void. After flying straight-away for 
several minutes I summoned up courage enough 
to make a turn. I carefully and gradually round- 
ed the corner, and then away off to one side I 
could see the flares on the ground. I completed 
a big circuit and shut off the engine preparatory 
to landing. Suddenly, in the midst of my de- 
scent, I realised I had misjudged it very badly, 
so quickly put the engine on again and proceed- 
ed to fly around a second time. Then I came 
down, and to my intense surprise, made quite a 
good landing. This was only the beginning. I 
had to repeat the trick several times. 

On the final test I had to do a given height. I 
left the ground as before, and just as I did so 
could see the reflection of the flares on the tin 
roofs of our huts. It made a great impression 
upon me, as I climbed away into the darkness. 
Then my thoughts went to my engine and I real- 
ised it was as important as my own heart. I lis- 



WINGED WARFARE 35 

tened to its steady beat with an anxious ear. Once 
or twice there was a slight kick or hitch in its 
smooth rhythm. No matter how many cylinders 
you have whirring in front of you, the instant one 
misses your heart hears it even before your ears 
do. Several times my heart seemed to stop. The 
tension became very great as I toiled and strug- 
gled up through the night. The lack of anything 
upon which I could put my eyes outside the ma- 
chine gave me a very queer feeling. 

One other machine was up at the same time, do- 
ing its test, and somehow, although the space in 
the air is very wide, I had a great fear that we 
might collide, so I gazed anxiously out into the 
darkness trying to see the little navigation lights 
we carried on our wings. It is hard to look into 
jet blackness, and the strain hurt my eyes, but 
I was afraid not to look for all I was worth. I 
continued to fly as much as I could in a dead 
straight line. Whenever I had to make a turn 
I made a very gradual one, hardly daring to bank, 
or tilt my machine at all. It is funny, this feel- 
ing at night that you must not bank, and a most 
dangerous instinct to follow. The feeling that 
you are off an even keel upsets you, as you have 
no horizon or apparent ground below you to 
take your bearings by, and you have to go by the 
instruments, or tell from the "feel" of the ma- 
chine itself, whether you are level or not. 



36 WINGED WARFARE 

However, at the stage of learning I had 
reached I knew nothing of the real feel of a ma- 
chine and was entirely dependent upon the in- 
struments. This isn't a very reassuring state of 
mind, so when the instruments at last indicated 
I had attained the required height, it was with a 
happy heart that I throttled back my engine to 
come down. I was afraid to shut it completely 
off for fear that it would get too cold to pick up 
when I put it on again. When you come down 
with your engine running it takes a much longer 
time to reach the ground. Every thousand feet 
or so, as I lost height, I would carefully try out 
the engine, and do a complete circuit. Under- 
neath me I could see the little twinkling flares, 
and kept them in sight as much as possible on 
the downward journey to make certain of not los- 
ing myself. Finally I reached the ground and 
made a careful landing. When I stepped out of 
the machine I had at last qualified as a pilot. I 
was sent to a home-guarding squadron near the 
mouth of the Thames. I spent hours practising 
in the air both by day and by night. Several 
times we had flight manoeuvres at night and that 
was ticklish work. We would go up to patrol 
a certain area with lights showing on all the aero- 
dromes in that section of the country, so that you 
could steer by them. I don't know of many 
greater tests of a pilot's skill than this flying in 



WINGED WARFARE 37 

the dark, with a lot of machines about you in the 
air, their little navigation lights looking for all the 
world like so many moving stars. The cold of 
the higher altitudes at night is agonisingly in- 
tense. After half an hour or so in the frigid zone 
you get sort of numb and then for a long while 
the cold doesn't seem to affect you any more. 
The real nasty part is when you have landed and 
begin to thaw out. It is really worse than the 
original freezing. 

In spite of the discomforts and the dangers of 
night flying you could not fail to admire the great 
beauty of the scene below you when the lights 
were on and sparkling. These lights would mean 
nothing to a stranger, but to us in the air they 
were friendly beacons of safety and gave us a 
feeling of absolute security. On such nights the 
skies would seem full to overflowing with myriad 
stars. We finally became so accustomed to fly- 
ing in the dark that nothing troubled us except 
ground mists or light fogs that would occasional- 
ly shut in from the sea, obliterate the lights and 
make landing a difficult and perilous task. 

My luck as a Zeppelin hunter was very poor. 
I used to dream occasionally about stalking the 
great monsters in the high thin air, pouring a 
drum of blazing bullets into them and gloating as 
they flared into flame. But no real Zeppelins 
ever came my way. The cold nights that we stood 



38 WINGED WARFARE 

by on duty waiting for them were very long, but 
not without their compensations. There would 
be two of us at a given station. We would play 
cards, strum on some sort of instrument, read 
for an hour or so, play cards again, and all the 
while hoping for an alarm that would send us 
aloft in pursuit of a marauding gas-bag from 
over the sea. 

Christmas Day we cooked our own turkey and 
the rest of the meal. Then in a burst of yuletide 
hospitality, we telephoned in to a local hotel and 
told the manager to send anybody he wanted to 
out to the aerodrome for dinner. Alas! for our 
ten-pound turkey. The guests from the hotel 
kept coming until there were actually twenty of 
them. However, in some miraculous way, we 
managed to feed the hungry score. Having par- 
taken of our food they did not tarry long. Night 
shut in early and once more we took up our win- 
try vigil. 

Toward the end of February, word came 
through from the War Office one night that I was 
to go to France. I had become convinced that 
the winter would not offer much opportunity at 
Zeppelin hunting, and had applied several times 
for duty at the righting front. Before I went, 
however, there was another course at a special 
school, where I learned to fly the smallest of our 
single-seater machines. Now I felt I had reached 



WINGED WARFARE 39 

the height of my ambition at last ; to actually fly 
one of these tiny, wasp-like fighting machines 
seemed to me the most wonderful thing in the 
world. A few days later when I reported for my 
orders to cross the Channel it was with a gay heart 
and a determination to reflect as much honour as 
I could upon the double-wings on my left breast. 



CHAPTER III 

WITH a dozen other flying men I landed in 
Boulogne on the seventh of March, 1917, 
for my second go at the war. At the Boulogne 
quay we separated, and I wish I could say that 
"some flew east and some flew west," but as a 
matter of fact we didn't fly at all. Instead, we 
meandered along over the slow French railroads 
for nearly two days before reaching our destina- 
tions. 

One other pilot and myself had been ordered 
to join a flying squadron on the southern sector 
of the British line. The squadron to which 
we were assigned had a great reputation, one of 
the best in all France, and we were very proud 
to become members of it. Captain Albert Ball, 
who was resting in England at the time, but who 
came back to France in the late spring and was 
killed within a few weeks, had brought down 
twenty-nine machines as a member of "our" 
squadron. That was an inspiration in itself. 

The first day of my stay with the squadron 
there was no flying and so I wandered about the 
field hangars looking at the machines. They 

41 



42 WINGED WARFARE 

were all of a type I had never seen before at close 
range — Nieuport Scouts, very small and of 
course with but a single seat. Being a French 
model, the Nieuport Scout is a beautiful crea- 
ture. The distinctly British machines — and some 
of our newer ones are indeed marvels of the air — 
are built strictly for business, with no particular 
attention paid to the beauty of lines. The French, 
however, never overlook such things. 

The modern fighting scout, and to my mind the 
single-seater is the only real aeroplane for offen- 
sive work, may have the power of two-hundred 
horses throbbing in its wonderful engine. Some 
of the machines are very slender of waist and al- 
most transparent of wing. Aeroplanes do not 
thrust their warlike nature upon the casual ob- 
server. One has to look twice before definitely 
locating the gun or guns attached so unobtrusive- 
ly to the framework, and synchronised, where 
necessary, to shoot through the whirring propel- 
ler in front. Such guns are connected to the en- 
gine itself by means of cams and are so arranged 
that they can fire only when the propeller reach- 
es a given position, thus allowing the bullets to 
pass safely between the blades. It seems like a 
very delicate bit of timing, but the devices are ex- 
tremely simple. 

The nacelle, or cock-pit of the modern machine, 
I have heard people say, suggests to them the 



WINGED WARFARE 43 

pilot house of a palatial private yacht in minia- 
ture. They generally are finished in hard wood 
and there are polished nickel instruments all 
about you. They indicate height, speed, angle, 
revolutions, and about everything an airman 
ought to know. There are ingenious sights for 
the guns and range-finders for bomb dropping. 
When he is tucked away in the nacelle, a little 
well-like compartment, about as big around as 
an ordinary barrel, only the pilot's head is visible 
above the freeboard of the body of the machine — 
the body being technically known as the fuselage. 
Directly in front of the pilot is a cute little glass 
wind-screen, a sort of half moon effect. 

We newcomers at the squadron — the other 
pilot and myself — had to stand by the next day 
and watch the patrols leaving to do their work 
over the lines. It was thrilling even to us, accus- 
tomed as we were to ordinary flying, to see the 
trim little fighters take the air, one after the other, 
circle above the aerodrome, and then dropping 
into a fixed formation, set their courses to the 
East. That night we listened with eager ears 
to the discussion of a fight in which a whole patrol 
had been engaged. We stay-at-homes had spent 
the day practice-flying in the new machines. 
There were three days more of this for me, and 
then, having passed some standard tests to show 
my familiarity with the Nieuport type, I was told 



44 WINGED WARFARE 

the next morning I was to cross the lines for the 
first time as the master of my own machine. 

The squadron commander had been killed the 
day before I arrived from England, and the new 
one arrived the day after. It rather pleased and 
in a sense comforted me to know that the new 
commander was also going over in a single-seater 
for the first time when I did. He had been fly- 
ing up to this time a two-seater machine which 
calls for entirely different tactics during a fight. 
Two-seater machines as a rule have guns that can 
be turned about in different positions. On the 
fighting scouts they generally are rigidly fixed. 
This means that it is necessary to aim the machine 
at anything you wish to fire at. 

The night before I was to "go over" I received 
my orders. I was to bring up the rear of a flight 
of six machines, and I assure you it was some task 
bringing up the rear of that formation. I had my 
hands full from the very start. It seemed to me 
my machine was slower than the rest, and as I 
wasn't any too well acquainted with it, I had a 
great time trying to keep my proper place, and 
to keep the others from losing me. I was so busy 
at the task of keeping up that my impressions of 
outside things were rather vague. Every time 
the formation turned or did anything unexpected, 
it took me two or three minutes to get back in my 
proper place. But I got back every time as fast 



WINGED WARFARE 45 

as I could. I felt safe when I was in the forma- 
tion and scared when I was out of it, for I had 
been warned many times that it is a fatal mistake 
to get detached and become a straggler. And I 
had heard of the German "head-hunters," too. 
They are German machines that fly very high 
and avoid combat with anything like an equal 
number, but are quick to pounce down upon a 
straggler, or an Allied machine that has been 
damaged and is bravely struggling to get home. 
Fine sportsmanship, that! 

The way I clung to my companions that day 
reminded me of some little child hanging to its 
mother's skirts while crossing a crowded street. 
I remember I also felt as a child does when it is 
going up a dark pair of stairs, and is sure some- 
thing is going to reach out of somewhere and 
grab it. I was so intent on the clinging part that 
I paid very little attention to anything else. 

We climbed to a height of more than two miles 
on our side of the lines, then crossed them. There 
were other formations of machines in the air, pa- 
trolling at various places. I could see them in 
the distance, but for the life of me I could not tell 
whether they were friendly or hostile. On the 
chance that they might be the latter, I clung 
closer than ever to my comrades. Then, a long 
way off, I was conscious that a fight was going 
on between a patrol of our machines and a Hun 



46 WINGED WARFARE 

formation. I could make little of it all until fi- 
nally I saw what seemed like a dark ball of 
smoke falling and learned afterwards it was 
one of our own machines going down in flames, 
having been shot and set on fire by the enemy air- 
men. 

A few minutes after this my attention was at- 
tracted elsewhere. Our old friends the "Archies" 
were after us. It is no snug billet, this being in 
the rear of a formation when the "Archies" are 
giving a show. They always seem to aim at the 
leading machine, but come closer to hitting the 
one at the end of the procession. The first shot 
I heard fired was a terrific "bang" close to my 
ears. I felt the tail of my machine suddenly shoot 
up into the air, and I fell about three hundred 
feet before I managed completely to recover con- 
trol. That shot, strange to relate, was the clos- 
est I have ever had from anti-aircraft fire. The 
smoke from the exploding shell enveloped me. 
But close as it was, only one piece of the flying 
steel fragments hit my machine. Even that did 
no damage at all. 

After recovering control I looked about hastily 
for the rest of my formation, and discovered that 
by now thev were at least half a mile away, and 
somewhat nigher than I was. Terrified at being 
left alone, I put my engine on full and by taking 
a short cut, managed to catch up with them. 



WINGED WARFARE 47 

Much relieved, I fell in under the formation, feel- 
ing safe again, and not so alone in the world. 

We continued to patrol our beat, and I was 
keeping my place so well I began to look about 
a bit. After one of these gazing spells, I was 
startled to discover that the three leading ma- 
chines of our formation were missing. Appar- 
ently they had disappeared into nothingness. I 
looked around hastily, and then discovered them 
underneath me, diving rapidly. I didn't know 
just what they were diving at, but I dived, too. 
Long before I got down to them, however, they 
had been in a short engagement half a mile be- 
low me, and had succeeded in frightening off an 
enemy artillery machine which had been doing 
wireless observation work. It was a large white 
German two-seater, and I learned after we land- 
ed that it was a well known machine and was 
commonly called "the flying pig." Our patrol 
leader had to put up with a lot of teasing that 
night because he had attacked the "pig." It 
seems that it worked every day on this part of 
the front, was very old, had a very bad pilot, and 
a very poor observer to protect him. 

It was a sort of point of honour in the squadron 
that the decrepit old "pig" should not actually be 
shot down. It was considered fair sport, how- 
ever, to frighten it. Whenever our machines ap- 
proached, the "pig" would begin a series of 



48 WINGED WARFARE 

clumsy turns and ludicrous manoeuvres, and 
would open a frightened fire from ridiculously 
long ranges. The observer was a very bad shot 
and never succeeded in hitting any of our ma- 
chines, so attacking this particular German was 
always regarded more as a joke than a serious 
part of warfare. The idea was only to frighten 
the "pig," but our patrol leader had made such a 
determined dash at him the first day we went 
over, that he never appeared again. For months 
the patrol leader was chided for playing such a 
nasty trick upon a harmless old Hun. 

During my dive after the three forward ma- 
chines, I managed to lose them and the enemy 
machine as well. So I turned and went up again 
where I found two of my companions. We flew 
around looking for the others, but could not find 
them, so continued the patrol until our time was 
up and then returned to the aerodrome. The 
missing ones arrived about the same time and re- 
ported they had had a great many fights, but no 
decisive ones. 

About this time the Germans were beginning 
in earnest their famous retreat from the country 
of the Somme. There had been days upon days 
of heavy fogs and flying had been impossible. A 
few machines went up from time to time, but 
could see nothing. The wily old Hun had 
counted upon these thick days to shield his well- 




A ROYAL FLYING CORPS AEROPLANE FLYING OVER 
GERMAN TRENCHES IN FRANCE 



WINGED WARFARE 49 

laid plans, and made the most of them. Finally 
there came a strong breeze from the southwest 
that swept the fog away and cleared the ground 
of all mist and haze. This was on that wonder- 
fully clear March day just before the Germans 
evacuated Bapaume and left it a mass of ruins. 
We were early in the air and had no sooner 
reached our proper height to cross the lines than 
we could see something extraordinary was hap- 
pening behind the German trenches. From 
15,000 feet we could see for miles and miles 
around. The ground was a beautiful green and 
brown, and slightly to the south we could see the 
shell-pitted battlefields of the Somme, each shell- 
hole with glistening water in it. 

A few miles to the east there were long streaks 
of white smoke. Soon we realised that the Ger- 
mans had set fire to scores of villages behind their 
front. From where we flew we could see be- 
tween fifty and sixty of them ablaze. The long 
smoke plumes blowing away to the northeast 
made one of the most beautiful ground pictures 
I have ever seen from an aeroplane, but at the 
same time I was enraged beyond words. It had 
affected every pilot in the patrol the same way. 
We flew up and down over this burning country 
for two hours hunting, and wishing for German 
machines to come up and fight, but none ap- 
peared. We returned at last to the aerodrome 



50 WINGED WARFARE 

and told what we had seen during our patrol, 
but news of the fires had long since been reported 
by the airmen whose duty it is to look out for such 
things, and our general staff had at once sur- 
mised the full import of what was happening. 

The next week was full of exciting adventures. 
For days the clouds hung at very low altitudes, 
seldom being higher than 4,000 feet, and of course 
it was necessary for us to fly underneath them. 
At times during the famous retreat it was hard 
to tell just where the Germans were and where 
they were not. It was comparatively easy for the 
soldiers on the ground to keep in touch with the 
German rearguard by outpost fighting, but it 
was for us to keep tabs on the main bodies of 
troops. We would fly over a sector of country 
from east to west and mark down on our maps 
the points from which we were fired at. It was 
easy to know the Germans were at those particu- 
lar points. This was very tense and exciting 
work, flying along very low and waiting each 
second to hear the rattle of machine guns or the 
crack of a shell. We were flaunting ourselves as 
much as possible over the German lines in order 
to draw their fire. 



CHAPTER IV 

ON the 25th of March came my first real fight 
in the air, and as luck would have it, my 
first victory. The German retreat was continu- 
ing. Four of us were detailed to invade the ene- 
my country, to fly low over the trenches, and in 
general to see what the Boche troops were doing 
and where they were located. 

Those were very queer days. For a time it 
seemed that both armies — German and British 
alike — had simply dissolved. Skirmishes were 
the order of the day on the ground and in the 
air. The grim, fixed lines of battle had vanished 
for the time being and the Germans were falling 
back to their famous Hindenburg positions. 

The clouds had been hanging low as usual, but 
after we had gotten well in advance of our old 
lines and into what had so recently been Hun- 
land, the weather suddenly cleared. So we be- 
gan to climb to more comfortable altitudes and 
finally reached about 9,000 feet. We flew about 
for a long while without seeing anything, and 
then from the corner of my eye I spied what I 
believed to be three enemy machines. They were 

51 



52 WINGED WARFARE 

some distance to the east of us and evidently were 
on patrol duty to prevent any of our pilots or 
observers getting too near the rapidly changing 
German positions. The three strange machines 
approached us, but our leader continued to fly 
straight ahead without altering his course in the 
slightest degree. Soon there was no longer any 
doubt as to the identity of the three air-craft — 
they were Huns, with the big, distinguishing 
black iron crosses on their planes. They evi- 
dently were trying to surprise us and we allowed 
them to approach, trying all the time to appear as 
if we had not seen them. 

Like nearly all other pilots who come face to 
face with a Hun in the air for the first time, I 
could hardly realise that these were real, live, 
hostile machines. I was fascinated by them and 
wanted to circle about and have a good look at 
them. The German Albatross machines are per- 
fect beauties to look upon. Their swept-back 
planes give them more of a bird-like appearance 
than any other machines flying on the western 
front. Their splendid, graceful lines lend to 
them an effect of power and flying ability far 
beyond what they really possess. After your 
first few experiences with enemy machines at 
fairly close quarters you have very little trouble 
distinguishing them in the future. You learn to * 
sense their presence, and to know their nation-- 



WINGED WARFARE 5£ 

ality long before you can make out the crosses- 
on the planes. 

Finally the three enemy machines got behind 
us, and we slowed down so they would overtake 
us all the sooner. When they had approached 
to about 400 yards, we opened out our engines 
and turned. One of the other pilots, as well as 
myself, had never been in a fight before, and we 
were naturally slower to act than the other two. 
My first real impression of the engagement was 
that one of the enemy machines dived down, then 
suddenly came up again and began to shoot at 
one of our people from the rear. 

I had a quick impulse and followed it. I flew 
straight at the attacking machine from a position 
where he could not see me and opened fire. My 
"tracer" bullets — bullets that show a spark and 
a thin little trail of smoke as they speed through 
the air — began at once to hit the enemy machine 
A moment later the Hun turned over on his back 
and seemed to fall out of control. This was just 
at the time that the Germans were doing some of 
their famous falling stunts. Their machines 
seemed to be built to stand extraordinary strains 
in that respect. They would go spimiing down 
from great heights and just when you thought 
they were sure to crash, they would suddenly 
come under control, flatten out into correct flying 
position, and streak for the rear of their lines with 



54 WINGED WARFARE 

every ounce of horse power imprisoned in their 
engines. 

When my man fell from his upside down po- 
sition into a spinning nose dive, I dived after 
him. Down he went for a full thousand feet 
and then regained control. I had forgotten cau- 
tion and everything else in my wild and over- 
whelming desire to destroy this thing that for the 
time being represented all of Germany to me. 
I could not have been more than forty yards be- 
hind the Hun when he flattened out and again I 
opened fire. It made my heart leap to see my 
smoking bullets hitting the machine just where 
the closely hooded pilot was sitting. Again the 
Hun went into a dive and shot away from me 
vertically toward the earth. 

Suspecting another ruse, and still unmindful 
of what might be happening to my companions 
in their set-to with the other Huns, I went into 
a wild dive after my particular opponent with 
my engine full on. With a machine capable of 
doing 110 to 120 miles an hour on the level, I 
must have attained 180 to 200 miles in that wrath- 
ful plunge. Meteor-like as was my descent, 
however, the Hun seemed to be falling faster 
still and got farther and farther away from me. 
When I was still about 1,500 feet up, he crashed 
into the ground below me. For a long time I 
heard pilots speaking of "crashing" enemy ma- 



WINGED WARFARE 55 

chines, but I never fully appreciated the full sig- 
nificance of "crashed" until now. There is no 
other word for it. 

I have not to this day fully analysed my feel- 
ings in those moments of my first victory. I 
don't think I fully realised what it all meant. 
When I pulled my machine out of its own some- 
what dangerous dive, I suddenly became con- 
scious of the fact that I had not the slightest idea 
in the world where I was. I had lost all sense of 
direction and distance; nothing had mattered to 
me except the shooting down of that enemy scout 
with the big black crosses that I shall never for- 
get. Now I began to fear that I was well within 
the enemy country and that it was up to me to 
find some way of getting home. Then to my 
dismay I discovered that during our long dive 
mjr engine had filled up with lubricating oil and 
had stopped dead still. I tried every little trick 
I knew to coax a fresh start, but it was no use. 
I had no choice. I must land in the country di- 
rectly beneath me, be it hostile or friendly. I 
turned in what seemed to me by instinct to be the 
way toward our own lines and glided as far as 
I could without any help from the engine. 

I saw beneath me a destroyed village and my 
heart sank. I must be behind the German lines. 
Was my real flying career, just begun, to be end- 
ed so soon? Was I to suffer the fate the flying 



56 WINGED WARFARE 

man most abhors — the helpless descent in Hun- 
land and the meek submission to being taken pris- 
oner? A hundred thoughts were racing through 
my head, but in a moment they were dispersed. 
It was that always ghastly rattle of a machine- 
gun, firing at me from the ground. This left no 
doubt but that I was over enemy territory. I 
continued to glide, listlessly toward the ground, 
not caring much now what the machine-gun 
might do. My plight couldn't be much worse. 
I was convinced in fact that it couldn't possibly 
be worse. Mechanically, little realising- just 
what I was doing, but all the time following that 
first great instinct of self-preservation, I remem- 
ber carefully picking out a clear path in the rough 
terrain beneath me, and, making a last turn, I 
glided into it and landed. 

Some hostile spirit within me made me seize 
the rocket pistol we used to fire signals with in 
the air — Very lights, they are called. What I 
expected to do with such an impotent weapon of 
offence or defence, I don't know, but it gave me 
a sort of armed feeling as I jumped out of the 
machine. I ran to a near-by ditch, following the 
irresistible battlefield impulse to "take cover." 
I lay for some time in the ditch waiting — wait- 
ing for my fate — whatever it was to be. Then 
I saw some people crawling toward me. They 
were anxious moments, and I had to rub my eyes 



WINGED WARFARE 57 

two or three times before finally convincing my- 
self that the oncoming uniforms were of muddy- 
brown and homely, if you will, but to me that 
day, khaki was the most wonderful, the most in- 
spiring, the most soul-satisfying colour-scheme 
ever beheld by the eyes of man. In an instant 
my whole life-outlook changed; literally it 
seemed to me that by some miracle I had come 
back from the land of the "missing." 

The British "Tommies" had seen me land and 
had bravely crawled out to help me. They told 
me I had just barely crossed over into our own 
country; the last 150 yards of my glide had 
landed me clear of the Germans. The soldiers 
also said we had better try to move the machine, 
as the Germans could see it from the hill oppo- 
site and would be sure to shell it in a very little 
while. 

With the help of several other men from a field 
artillery battery, we hauled the machine into a 
little valley just before the German shells be- 
gan to arrive. One dropped with a noisy bang 
some 200 yards away from us, and I fell flat on 
my stomach. I hadn't seen much land fighting 
up to this time, but I had been told that that was 
the proper thing to do. The Tommies, however, 
looked at me with amazement. The idea of any- 
body dropping from a shell two hundred yards 
away ! They told me there was nothing to worry 



58 WINGED WARFARE 

about for the moment, and added, cheerfully, 
that in a few minutes the Huns would be doing 
a little better shooting. 

But I had my own back with the Tommies 
sooner than I could ever have hoped for. This 
time a shell landed about twenty yards from us 
and down went everybody but me. I stood up — 
out of sheer ignorance! I didn't know by the 
sound of the shell how close it was going to land, 
but the others did and acted accordingly. The 
joke of the whole thing was that the shell was a 
"dud." It didn't explode, and I had the laugh 
on the wise artillerymen. 

Eventually we got the machine behind a clump 
of trees where the Germans couldn't see it, and 
they decided to waste no more ammunition hunt- 
ing us out. Although it was already 6 o'clock 
in the evening, I started to work on the engine, 
but after an hour and a half had not succeeded 
in getting a single cough out of any one of the 
many cylinders. So I decided to let matters rest 
and accept a very cordial invitation to spend the 
night with a battery near by. 

It would have been a very interesting night in- 
deed if I could have had some real place to sleep, 
or if I had not been wearing loose, heavy flying 
clothes, with fleece-lined boots up to my hips, or 
if it had not commenced to rain about 9 o'clock, or 
if in the middle of the night a heavy artillery bat- 



WINGED WARFARE 59 

tie had not started. But in spite of the discom- 
fort and the drizzle it was all very interesting and 
exciting, and seemed to me a sort of fitting se- 
quel to my wonderful first day of combat in the 
air. 

The next day it continued to rain, and as I re- 
ceived no word from my squadron in answer to 
several telegrams, I borrowed some tools from 
the gunners and again got to work on my choked- 
up engines. Within a few hours she was run- 
ning beautifully. Now the problem was to find 
a place from which to fly off. The ground was 
rough and very muddy, but I decided to try to 
"taxi" over it. We had not bumped very far 
along, however, the machine and I, when a big 
piece of mud flew up and split the propeller. 
That ended it. There was nothing to do but wait 
for help to come from the squadron. It came the 
next afternoon, after I had spent a terrible night 
trying to get to the squadron, and rescue parties 
from the squadron had spent an equally terrible 
night trying to get to me. I had landed at a 
point which had been well behind the German 
lines a few days ago; where the roads had been 
mined and blocked in all manner of ways, and 
where the German spirit of wanton destruction 
had held high carnival. I had even tried to get 
through in a Ford, but it was no use. 

It was about 3 o'clock the second afternoon 



60 WINGED WARFARE 

after I landed that one of the rescue parties ar- 
rived. They had travelled about ninety miles to 
get to me, although the aerodrome was only 
fifteen miles away. By the third afternoon we 
had succeeded in taking my machine to pieces, 
and having safely loaded it into a motor lorry, 
began our return journey about 7 o'clock in the 
evening. We arrived at the aerodrome at 6:30 
the next morning. I slept part of the way, but 
never was so worn out and tired in all my life, 
for many times during the night it was necessary 
to get out and help our car out of the mud. Fi- 
nally, when about six miles from the aerodrome, 
we went into a mud hole and stuck. It was abso- 
lutely impossible to move in any direction, so 
with one of the men I set out afoot to an aero- 
drome about three miles away. There I pulled 
some sleepy mechanics out of bed and got them 
to drive me to my own aerodrome a little further 
along. 

Now for the first time I learned exactly what 
had happened in the fight on the 25th. The pa- 
trol leader had also destroyed one of the enemy 
machines, while the third Hun had escaped. All 
of us were perfectly safe and none of our ma- 
chines damaged except my own, which showed a 
few tears from shell fragments. 

It seemed to me it had been ages since the 
fight. But at last I was back among my com- 



WINGED WARFARE 61 

panions — and I had the large total of one ma- 
chine to my credit. There were fellows in the 
squadron who did not have any, however, and I 
was very proud; so proud and excited over the 
whole episode that despite my intense weariness, 
I couldn't go to sleep until late in the afternoon. 



CHAPTER V 

THE fates had been so kind to me in my 
first fight in the air, that the next time I 
crossed the lines my squadron commander had 
designated me as patrol leader. I knew this was 
a difficult job, but it was not until after we 
started out that I knew how difficult. First of 
all I seemed to be leading too fast ; then the pace 
would become too slow. Some of the machines 
seemed too close to me, and some too far awav. 
I wondered why it was that every one should be 
flying so badly to-day except myself. As a mat- 
ter of fact if I had been leading properly, the 
other machines would have found it quite easy 
to keep in their assigned places. 

However, one learns by experience, so at the 
end of two hours I was leading much better, and 
had progressed another step in the school of war- 
flying. The clouds were very thick this day and 
rolled under us at times in great cumulous 
masses. We caught only occasional glimpses of 
the ground through rifts in the clouds a mile or 
more apart. It was necessary to watch very 
closely through these holes and to recognise fa- 

63 



64 WINGED WARFARE 



miliar places on the ground, otherwise we were 
likely to get lost and never see home again. 
When our two hours' tour of duty aloft was 
ended though, we landed safely at the aerodrome 
without having seen any enemy machines. 

Two days later my patrol engaged in one of 
the bitterest fights I have ever known. I knew 
that night the full meaning of that last line so 
often seen in the British Official Communique: 
"One of our machines did not return." A second 
machine barely reached our lines, with the pilot 
so badly wounded he lived but a little while. 

The patrol consisted of a flight of six machines. 
I led my companions up to 12,000 feet before 
heading across the trenches just south of Arras. 
Once over the lines we turned to the north, not 
penetrating very far into Hunland because of 
the strong wind that was blowing about 50 miles 
an hour from the West. These westerly gales 
were one of the worst things we had to contend 
with at the front. They made it very easy for us 
to dash into enemy territory, but it was a very 
different story when we started for home and 
had to combat the tempest. If an airman ever 
wishes for a favouring wind it is when he is 
streaking for home. 

Seeing the modern war aeroplanes riding 
through howling storms reminds one that it was 
not so long ago that a ten-mile breeze would up- 




MAJOR BISHOP STANDING IN FRONT 
OF ONE OF HIS PLANES 



WINGED WARFARE 65 

set all flying plans for a day at any aerodrome or 
exhibition field. Now nothing short of a hurri- 
cane can keep the machines on the ground. As 
far as the ability to make good weather of it is 
concerned, the airman of to-day can laugh at a 
gale and fairly take a nap sitting on a forty mile 
wind. 

We had been over the lines twenty minutes, 
and were tossing about a bit in the storm, when I 
sighted an enemy machine flying about half a 
mile below me. He was scudding gracefully 
along just over the top of a layer of filmy white 
clouds. I signalled to the remainder of my pa- 
trol that I had sighted an enemy, and in another 
instant I was diving after him. As I sped down- 
ward I could see the remainder of the patrol com- 
ing after me. I must have been plunging fully 
150 miles an hour at the German with the black 
crosses on his wings, when suddenly out of the 
clouds, and seemingly right under my nose, a 
second enemy machine appeared. I realised now 
that we were in for serious fighting, that we had 
run into an ambuscade, for it was a great trick 
of the Germans at this time to lurk behind patch- 
es of clouds to obtain the advantage of a surprise 
attack. We soon taught them, however, that this 
was a game at which two could play. 

When the second machine loomed so suddenly 
from his hiding place, I naturally transferred my 



66 WINGED WARFARE 

attention to him. I closed to within 150 yards 
and then opened fire from directly behind. Noth- 
ing happened, however, for all my bullets seemed 
to be going far wide of their mark. I was frank- 
ly surprised at this and wondered what had hap- 
pened to the marksmanship which had stood me 
in such good stead in my first fight. As a result 
of these thoughts I neglected to look behind me 
to see if the other machines of the patrol were fol- 
lowing, and my first intimation that anything 
was wrong was the sound of machine guns firing 
from somewhere in the rear. I was about to turn 
my head to see if it was one of the patrol firing, 
when some flaming German bullets shot past be- 
tween my left hand planes. Then I realised that 
a third enemy machine had gotten on my tail and 
had a dead shot at me. There was but one way 
to get out of this and I tried it. I pulled my ma- 
chine right up into the air and turned over back- 
ward in a partial loop. As I did so the enemy 
machine flashed by underneath. 

It was a narrow escape, but it gave me a 
breathing spell in which to look around for the 
remainder of my patrol. They were nowhere to 
be seen. Later I learned that when they were 
coming down to me, more enemy machines had 
popped out of the clouds and there had been a 
sort of general melee. The machine which got 
on my tail, seemed to have dropped out of the 



WINGED WARFARE 67 

clear sky above. In all it turned out there were 
about ten of the enemy to six of us. 

It was my luck to be mixed up single-handed 
with three of the Huns. Under the circum- 
stances, wisdom semed to me the better part of 
valour, and I climbed as speedily as I could, even- 
tually managing to get clear of their range. Then 
looking around, I saw a fight going on about a 
mile further east. It was a matter of thirty sec- 
onds to fly into this, and there I found two of my 
machines in a go at four or five of the enemy. 
We fought for fifteen minutes or more without 
either side gaining an advantage. During all 
this time, however, we were steadily being driven 
by the gale farther and farther into German ter- 
ritory, and were rapidly losing height as well. 
We figured at this time we must be fully fifteen 
miles behind the Hun lines. 

We had circled and dived and fought our way 
down to about 4,000 feet when suddenly about 
half a mile away I saw one of our patrol fighting 
for his life with two of the enemy. I broke off 
the futile engagement we were in and flew to 
the lone pilot's assistance. The other two of my 
pilots also broke away from the Germans and fol- 
lowed me as I headed over to help him. At the 
same moment he succeeded in escaping from the 
two attacking Huns, and we joined up again in 
a formation of four machines. At this time we 



68 WINGED WARFARE 

' ■ 

were as low as 2,500 feet, but by careful flying 
and using the clouds to hide in, we managed to 
evade all the enemy flyers who came swirling 
after us. 

The moment we headed for home, however, all 
the "Archies'' in the neighbourhood opened fire 
on us. We were flying straight into the teeth 
of the 50-mile gale and were making very little 
headway against it. This slow pace made us an 
easy mark for the guns, and meant that we had 
to do a lot of dodging. We darted from one 
cloud to another, using them as much as possible 
for protection. It was again the old instinct of 
"taking cover" or "digging in." 

Reaching the aerodrome we were very much 
crestfallen. The battle had not been a success 
and two of our patrol, two of our most intimate 
friends, had not returned. Later that night, 
about 11 o'clock we had word that one of the 
missing machines had landed on our side of the 
lines with the pilot badly wounded. Next morn- 
ing we heard the narticulars of a wonderful piece 
of work done by this gallant boy. He was only 
18, and had been in France but three weeks. The 
British Flying Corps is filled with boys of that 
age — with spirits of daring beyond all compare 
and courage so self-effacing as to be a continual 
inspiration to their older brothers in the service. 

In the early part of the fight, this boy had been 



WINGED WARFARE 69 

hit by an explosive bullet, which, entering him 
from behind, had pierced his stomach and ex- 
ploded there. His machine had been pretty bad- 
ly shot about, the engine damaged, and, there- 
fore, a great resulting loss in efficiency. Mor- 
tally wounded as he was, however, he fought for 
ten or fifteen minutes with his opponents and 
then succeeded in escaping. Dazed from pain 
and loss of blood, he flew vaguely in a westerly 
direction. He had no idea where he was, but 
when the anti-aircraft guns ceased to fire, he 
glided down and landed in a field. Stepping out 
of his machine he attempted to walk, but had 
moved scarcely forty steps when he fell in a faint. 
He was hurried to hospital and given the tend- 
erest of care but next morning he died, leaving 
behind a brave record for his brief career in the 
flying service. 

The pilot who did not return was reported 
missing for about two months, and then we heard 
he had been killed outright, shot dead in the air. 
Upon looking back on this fight now, in the light 
of my later experience, I wonder that any of us 
got out of it alive. Every circumstance was 
against us and the formation we ran into was 
made up of the best Hun pilots then in the air. 
They fought under as favourable conditions as 
they could have wished and one can only wonder 
how they missed completely wiping us out. 



70 WINGED WARFARE 

■■■ ' II I II II ■ ■ ■ ■ I »'■' ■ I 111 I! " ■ II I I I — ■■ III I HI M I ,|.| 

Next day there were only four of us left in my 
patrol, but we were assigned to escort and pro- 
tect six other machines that were going over to 
get photographs of some German positions about 
ten miles behind the front line trenches. I had 
my patrol flying about a thousand feet above the 
photography machines when I saw six enemy 
single-seater scouts climbing to swoop down upon 
our photography machines. At the same time 
there were two other enemy machines coming 
from above to engage us. 

Diving toward the photography machines I 
managed to frighten off two of the Boches, then 
looking back I saw one of my pilots being at- 
tacked by one of the two higher Germans who had 
made for us. This boy, who is now a prisoner 
of war, had been a school-mate of mine before the 
war. Forgetting everything else I turned back 
to his assistance. The Hun who was after him 
did not see me coming. I did not fire until I had 
approached within 100 yards. Then I let go. 
The Hun was evidently surprised. He turned 
and saw me, but it was too late now. I was on 
his tail — just above and a little behind him — and 
at fifty yards I fired a second burst of twenty 
rounds. This time I saw the bullets going home. 
As was the case with the first machine I brought 
down, this one also flopped over on its back, then 



WINGED WARFARE 71' 

got into a spin and went headlong to the earth 
where it crashed a hopeless wreck. 

I rejoined the photography machines which 
unfortunately in the meantime had lost one of 
their number. We brought the five home safely 
— and the photographs were a huge success. 



CHAPTER VI 

IT was a German boast at this time that their 
retreat from the Somme had upset the offen- 
sive plans of the British and French for months 
to come. How untrue this was they were soon to 
know. We Canadians knew that the first big 
"push" of the spring was to come at Vimy Ridge, 
where the Canadian Corps had been holding the 
line grimly the entire winter through. It had 
been a trying ordeal for our men, who were al- 
most at the foot of the ridge with the Germans 
everywhere above them. 

During all the long cold months of winter the 
old Boche had been looking down on us, pelting 
the infantry in the trenches with all manner of 
bombs and trench mortar shells and making life 
generally uncomfortable. During all this time, 
however, and in spite of the fact that the Ger- 
mans had direct observation both of our lines 
and the country back of them, we had succeeded 
in massing a hitherto unheard of number of guns 
and great forces of reserves for the initial at- 
tack of the new fighting season. 

About the first of April we heard the first ru- 

73 



74 WINGED WARFARE 

mours of the approaching storm. The British 
artillery was tuning up all along the line, the 
greatest fire being concentrated in the neighbour- 
hood of Arras and the Vimy Ridge, running 
north from that quaint old Cathedral City. It 
was the beginning of that great tumult of artil- 
lery which eventually was to practically blow the 
top off the ridge — and the Germans with it. Our 
machines had been operating with the guns, 
ranging them on the German lines and the vil- 
lages where the enemy troops were quartered in 
the rear. There had been much careful "register- 
ing" also of the German battery positions, so 
that when the time came for our troops to "go 
over" the British and Canadian artillery could 
pour such a torrent of shells on the German guns 
as to keep them safely silent during the infantry 
attack. 

At last came the orders for our part in another 
phase of the "show." It was up to us to "clear 
the air" during the last days of battle prepara- 
tion. We did not want any more prying eyes 
looking down upon us from the clouds — it was 
bad enough to have to submit to the ground ob- 
servation from the German-held ridges. We 
were already accustomed to fighting the enemy 
aeroplanes over their own ground and thus keep- 
ing them as far as possible from our lines, but 
now we were assigned to a new job. It was at- 



WINGED WARFARE 



tacking the enemy observation balloons. They 
flew in the same places almost every day — well 
back of the enemy lines, but the observers in 
them, equipped with splendid telescopes, could 
leisurely look far into our lines and note every- 
thing that was going on. We proposed to put 
out these enemy eyes. 

We called the big, elongated gas-bags "saus- 
ages," and the French did likewise — "saucissas." 
They floated in the air at anywhere from 800 to 
3,000 feet above the ground, and were held cap- 
tive by cables. These cables were attached to 
some special kind of windlasses which could pull 
the balloons down in an incredibly short space of 
time. Sometimes they would disappear as if by 
witch-craft. Wherever the sausages flew they 
were protected from aeroplane attack by heavy 
batteries of anti-aircraft guns, and also by what 
we came to know as "flaming onions." These 
"flaming onions" appear to consist of about ten 
balls of fire and are shot from some kind of rock- 
et gun. You can see them coming all the way 
from the ground, and they travel just too fast to 
make it possible to dodge them. I have never 
had an "onion" nearer than 200 feet of me, but 
the effect of these balls of fire reaching for you is 
most terrifying — especially the first time you 
have the pleasure of making their acquaintance. 

Our instructions were not only to drive the 



76 WINGED WARFARE 

enemy balloons down but to set fire to and de- 
stroy them. This is done by diving on them from 
above and firing some incendiary missile at them 
— not by dropping bombs on them, as one so of- 
ten hears in London. 

The British attack at Arras and Vimy was set 
for April 9 — Easter Monday. On the 5th of 
April we started after the sausages. The weath- 
er at this time was very changeable, chilling snow- 
squalls being intermingled with flashes of bril- 
liant warm sunshine. It was cloudy and misty 
the day our balloon attacks began, and the saus- 
ages were not visible from our side of the lines. 
I was assigned to "do in" a particularly annoy- 
ing sausage that used to fly persistently in the 
same place day after day. It was one of the 
sausages with a queer shaped head, looking for 
all the world like a real flying pig — sans feet. 
Any new sort of hunting always appealed to me 
strongly, and I was eager for the chase when I 
crossed into enemy territory in search of my par- 
ticular game. I flew expectantly in the direction 
where the balloon usually inhabited the air, but 
it was nowhere to be seen. I circled down close 
to the ground to be sure it was not on duty, and 
immediately found myself in the midst of a ter- 
rific fire from all manner of guns. Something 
told me to hurry away from there, and I did. 
The quickest shelter available was a rather dark 



WINGED WARFARE 77 

and forbidding cloud, but I made for it with all 
my might, climbing as fast as my little single- 
seater would take me. What a relief it was to 
be lost in that friendly mist. Continuing to 
climb, I rose at last into the sunshine and then 
headed for home. My balloon had not been up, 
but my first experience as a sausage hunter had 
not been the pleasantest form of amusement and 
I was inclined not to like it very much. Later 
on I met with some success against the balloons, 
but the sport, while exciting, was not to be com- 
pared with another aeroplane. 

The weather cleared late in the afternoon of 
the 5th, and for the first time in my flying career 
I had the privilege of going out alone in search 
of a fight. There was not an enemy machine in 
the air, however, and I returned with nothing to 
report. 

Next morning bright and early I was again 
out "on mjr own" in search of adventure. I had 
been flying over the lines for over half an hour 
when suddenly I spied an enemy machine about 
a mile over in Hunland, and some distance above 
me. In these days I no longer had any misgiv- 
ings as to whether a machine was friend or foe — 
I had learned to sense the enemy. Our greatest 
difficulty at the time was drawing the Huns into 
a close combat. I set out to see what sort of fight- 
ing material this particular pilot of the iron cross- 



78 WINGED WARFARE 

' ■ 

es was made of. Keeping him always within view 
I climbed to nearly 15,000 feet, and from that 
point of vantage dived upon him. I waited until 
my plunge had carried me to within 150 yards of 
him before opening fire. I had gotten in a burst 
of probably twenty rounds, when my gun 
jammed. The Hun saw me and dived away as 
fast as he could go. I dived after him, tinker- 
ing with the gun all the time, and finally getting 
it clear, fired another burst at 100 yards. This 
drove him into a still deeper dive, but he flattened 
out again, and this time I gave him a burst at 
fifty yards. His machine evidently was damaged 
by my fire, for he now dived vertically toward 
the ground, keeping control, however, and land- 
ing safely in a field. 

This fight gave me a new resolve — to devote 
more time to target practice. I should have de- 
stroyed this Hun, but poor shooting had enabled 
him to escape. Going home I spent an hour that 
day practicing at a square target on the ground. 
Thereafter I gave as much time as possible to 
shooting practice, and to the accuracy I acquired 
in this way I feel I owe most of my successes. 
Aeroplane target practice is not without its dan- 
gers. The target on the ground is just about the 
size of the vital spots you aim at in fighting. You 
have to dive steeply at this and there is very little 



WINGED WARFARE 79 

margin of safety when plunging at full speed to 
within a few feet of the earth. 

April 6th and 7th were memorable days in the 
Flying Corps. The public, knowing nothing of 
the approaching attack which was to go down in 
history as The Battle of Arras, was distinctly 
shocked when the British communiques for these 
two days frankly admitted the loss of twenty- 
eight of our machines. We considered this a 
small price to pay for the amount of work ac- 
complished and the number of machines engaged, 
coupled with the fact that all of our work was 
done within the German lines. In the two days 
that we lost twenty-eight machines, we had ac- 
counted for fifteen Germans, who were actually 
seen to crash, and thirty-one driven down dam- 
aged, many of which must have met a similar 
fate. The British do not officially announce a 
hostile machine destroyed without strict verifi- 
cation. When you are fighting a formation of 
twenty or more Huns in a general melee, and one 
begins a downward spin, there is seldom time to 
disengage yourself and watch the machine com- 
plete its fatal plunge. You may be morally cer- 
tain the Hun was entirely out of control and 
nothing could save him, but unless some one saw 
the crash, credit is given only for a machine 
driven down. The Koyal Flying Corps is abso- 
lutely unperturbed when its losses on any one 



80 WINGED WARFARE 

day exceed those of the enemy, for we philosophi- 
cally regard this as the penalty necessarily en- 
tailed by our acting always on the offensive in 
the air. 

Technically, the Germans seldom gave a ma- 
chine "missing," for the fighting is practically 
always over their territory, and every one of their 
machines driven down can be accounted for, even 
if it is totally destroyed. Many of our losses are 
due wholly to the fact that we have to "carry on" 
over German territory. Any slight accident or 
injury that compels a descent in Hunland natur- 
ally means the total loss of the British machine. 
But such a loss does not involve a German vic- 
tory in combat ; it is merely a misfortune for us. 
If the machine could only have reached our side 
of the lines it might have been repaired in half 
an hour. The public often forgets these things 
when reading of British machines that fail to 
return. 

Every class of our machines was now engaged 
in the preparations for the big offensive. The 
bombing squadrons were out by day and by 
night. They would fly over the lines with only 
the stars to guide them and drop tons of high ex- 
plosives wherever it was considered that the re- 
sulting damage would have a crippling effect 
upon the defensive power of the German ma- 
chine. Our photographers were busy during 




KITE-BALLOON IN OBSERVATION SERVICE- 
PULLING HER IN 



WINGED WARFARE 81 

every hour of sunlight and our artillery observ- 
ing machines were keeping long hours in com- 
pany with the guns, carrying on the preliminary 
bombardments. 

My own experiences on the seventh of April 
brought me my first decoration — the Military 
Cross. The thrills were all condensed into a pe- 
riod of two minutes for me. In that time I was 
fortunate enough to shoot down an enemy ma- 
chine and destroy the * 'sausage' ' I had started for 
two days before. This should have been excite- 
ment enough, but I added to it by coming within 
fifteen feet of being taken a German prisoner 
and becoming an unwilling guest of the Huns for 
the "duration." 

I was ordered after my particular balloon and 
had climbed to about 5,000 feet before heading 
for the lines. On my way there I had to pass 
over one of our own observation balloons. I 
don't know what it was that attracted my atten- 
tion, but looking down I saw what appeared to 
be two men descending in parachutes. A mo- 
ment later the balloon below me burst into flames. 
I saw the enemy machine which had set it on fire 
engaged with some of ours, but as I had definite 
orders to proceed straight to the lines and destroy 
the hostile balloon which had been allotted to me, 
I was unable to join in the fighting. 

Just about this time an amusing incident was 



82 WINGED WARFARE 

in progress at our aerodrome. A Colonel of the 
Corps was telephoning my squadron commander, 
informing him that one of our balloons had just 
been destroyed. 

"Well, if it is any consolation, young Bishop, 
of my squadron, has just gone over to get one of 
theirs," replied my commander. 

"Good God," said the Colonel, "I hope he has 
not made a mistake in the balloon and set ours 
on fire." 

At this moment I was serenely sailing over the 
enemy trenches keeping a sharp lookout for some 
sign of my own balloon. After flying five miles 
over the lines I discovered it and circled around 
as a preliminary to diving down upon it. But 
just then I heard the rattle of machine guns di- 
rectly behind me and saw bullet holes appear as 
if by magic in the wings of my machine. I pulled 
back as if to loop, sending the nose of my ma- 
chine straight up into the air. As I did so the 
enemy scout shot by underneath me. I stood on 
my tail for a moment or two, then let the machine 
drop back, put her nose down and dived after 
the Hun, opening fire straight behind him at very 
close range. He continued to dive away with 
increasing speed and later was reported to have 
crashed just under where the combat had taken 
place. This victory I put down entirely to luck. 
The man flew directly in line with my gun and 



WINGED WARFARE 83 

it would have been impossible to have missed him. 

I proceeded now to dive for the balloon, but 
having had so much warning, it had been pulled 
down to the ground. I would have been justified 
in going home when I saw this, for our orders 
were not to go under 1,000 feet after the saus- 
ages. But I was just a bit peevish with this 
particular balloon, and to a certain extent my 
blood was up. So I decided to attack the un- 
gainly monster in its "bed." I dived straight for 
it and when about 500 feet from the ground, 
opened fire. Nothing happened. So I continued 
to dive and fire rapid bursts until I was only 
fifty feet above the bag. Still there was no signs 
of it catching fire. I then turned my machine 
gun on the balloon crew who were working fran- 
tically on the ground. They scattered and ran 
all about the field. Meantime a "flaming onion" 
battery was attempting to pelt me with those un- 
savoury missiles, so I whirled upon them with a 
burst of twenty rounds or more. One of the on- 
ions had flared within a hundred yards of me. 

This was all very exciting, but suddenly, with 
a feeling of faintness, I realised that my engine 
had failed. I thought that again, as during my 
first fight, the engine.had oiled up from the steep 
diving I had done. It seemed but a moment be- 
fore that I was coming down at a speed that 
must have been nearly 200 miles an hour. But 



84 WINGED WARFARE 

I had lost it all in turning my machine upon the 
people on the ground. 

There was no doubt in my mind this time as 
to just where I was, and there appeared no al- 
ternative but to land and give myself up. Un- 
derneath me was a large open field with a single 
tree in it. 1 glided down, intending to strike the 
tree with one wing just at the moment of land- 
ing, thus damaging the machine so it would be 
of little use to the Huns, without injuring myself. 

I was within fifteen feet of the ground, abso- 
lutely sick at heart with the uselessness of it all, 
my thoughts having turned to home and the 
worry they would all feel when I was reported 
in the list of the missing, when without warning 
one of my nine cylinders gave a kick. Then a 
second one miraculously came to life, and in an- 
other moment the old engine — the best old engine 
in all the world — had picked up with a roar on 
all the nine cylinders. Once again the whole 
world changed for me. In less time than it takes 
to tell it I was tearing away for home at a hun- 
dred miles an hour. My greatest safety from 
attack now lay in keeping close to the ground, 
and this I did. The "Archies" cannot fire when 
you are so close to earth, and few pilots would 
have risked a dive at me at the altitude which I 
maintained. The machine guns on the ground 



WINGED WARFARE 85 

rattled rather spitefully several times, but wor- 
ried me not at all. I had had my narrow squeak 
for this day and nothing could stop me now. 

I even had time to glance back over my shoul- 
der, and there, to my great joy, I saw a cloud of 
smoke and flames rising from my erstwhile bete 
noir — the sausage. We afterward learned it was 
completely destroyed. 

It was a strange thing to be skimming along 
just above the ground in enemy territory. From 
time to time I would come on groups of Huns 
who would attempt to fire on me with rifles and 
pistols, but I would dart at them and they would 
immediately scatter and run for cover. I Hew so 
low that when I would come to a clump of trees 
I would have to pull my nose straight up toward 
the sky and "zoom" over them. Most of the 
Germans were so startled to see me right in their 
midst, as it were, they either forgot to fire or fired 
so badly as to insure my absolute safety. Cross- 
ing the three lines of German trenches was not 
so comfortable, but by zigzagging and quick 
dodging I negotiated them safely and climbed 
away to our aerodrome. There I found that no 
bullets had passed very close to me, although my 
wingtips were fairly perforated. 

That evening I was delighted to get congratu- 
lations not only from my Colonel, but my Briga- 



8 6 WINGED WARFARE 



dier as well, supplemented later by a wire from 
the General commanding the Flying Corps. 
This I proudly sent home the same evening in a 
letter. 



CHAPTER VII 

EASTER Sunday was one of the most beau- 
tiful days I have ever seen, and we felt that 
at last the gods of the weather were going to 
smile on a British offensive. The sky was a won- 
derful blue, flecked only here and there with bits 
of floating white clouds- There was a warmth of 
spring in the sunshine that filled one with the 
joy of living. Hundreds of our machines were 
aloft to demonstrate anew the fact that we were 
masters of the air. They carried the fighting 
wholly into the enemy's territory, sought out his 
aerodromes, his military headquarters, his am- 
munition dumps, his concentration camps and 
challenged him in every possible manner to come 
up and fight. Some of our reconnaissance ma- 
chines flew from sixty to ninety miles behind the 
German lines. 

It used to amuse and amaze me to think on 
days like this of the marvels that modern flying 
had accomplished. Our machines were not only 
called upon to fly faster by far than the swiftest 
birds, but to do "stunts" that no bird ever thought 
of. Whoever heard of a bird flying upside down? 

87 



88 WINGED WARFARE 

Yet there were plenty of our pilots who rather 
delighted in doing this. There are trick flyers 
just as there are trick bicyclists and trick riders 
in the circus. I belonged to the steady flyers' 
class, but some day soon I am really going to 
learn to fly — to do aerial acrobatics, and every- 
thing. I remember crossing the lines one day in 
the hottest sort of "Archie" fire and suddenly 
seeing below me one of the most remarkable 
sights of my flying career. The shape of the ma- 
chine looked a little familiar, and the colour was 
certainly familiar. But there was something 
queer about the rigging. My curiosity was 
aroused, and in spite of the whistling "Archie" 
shells I determined to have a nearer look at this 
stranger of the air. As I approached I made out 
something that looked like wheels stuck up 
toward the sky. I was more puzzled than ever 
for a moment, then realised it was a machine up- 
side down. The wingtips bore the red, white and 
blue target markings of the British service, so I 
flew very close to see if anything was wrong. 
When I got near enough I recognised my squad- 
ron commander at the time. He was out hav- 
ing an afternoon stroll and had deliberately 
sailed over the lines upside down just to show his 
contempt for the Hun "Archies," and also in 
the hope that he might attract the attention of 



WINGED WARFARE 89 

a "headhunter" and thus bring on a little excite- 
ment. 

With the great attack scheduled for dawn the 
next morning, we went at our work on Easter 
Sunday with an added zest. At 9 o'clock, just 
after the early morning mist had been driven 
away by the mounting sun, I was due for an of- 
fensive patrol — in other words there were six 
of us going over the lines in search of trouble. 
Our squadron commander was in the flight, and 
he had been leading us inside Hunland for about 
twenty minutes before anything happened. Then 
a two-seated machine with the enemy markings 
on it, appeared underneath us. Our commander 
dived at him like a hawk and his first burst of 
fire clearly hit home. The enemy machine dived 
toward the ground, but thinking this might be a 
trick I dived after it, firing all the way. I soon 
saw, however, that the Huns actually had been 
hurt and were doomed. So I pulled my machine 
out of the dive and looked around for the rest 
of the patrol. They had all disappeared. A mo- 
ment or two later I sighted a pair of o&r machines 
engaged in a helter-skelter fight to the left of me, 
and had just started in their direction when seem- 
ingly out of nowhere at all, an enemy scout dived 
at me. I turned quickly and avoided him. Then 
for several minutes we had a running fight, fir- 
ing occasionally, but neither one of us being able 



90 WINGED WARFARE 

to manoeuvre into a position of real advantage. 
Finally the enemy flew away eastward and es- 
caped. 

In the excitement of the fighting I had not 
noticed it before, but now looking downward I 
saw a Boche sausage just beneath me. I plunged 
at it just as the crew began to pull it frantically 
down. I kept diving and firing at the big bag, 
but as no smoke appeared I gathered I had either 
missed it all the while, or my bullets had failed in 
their duty as "fire-bugs." 

I had dropped to 800 feet in my chase after 
the bag and could plainly see German troops 
marching toward the support and reserve lines at 
the front. Evidently they were preparing for 
our assault. The way our artillery had been 
going for a week past left them little room for 
doubt. I flew about watching these troops for 
some time, despite the telltale rattle of the ma- 
chine guns on the ground, but at last decided I 
had better get out of it. I saw a cloud some dis- 
tance above me and decided to climb into it and 
lose myself. I had just about reached the edge 
of the cloud when another enemy scout decided 
to have a go at me. I had fired about a hundred 
rounds at him when my gun jammed. I dodged 
away to have time to correct this and the enemy, 
immediately seeing his advantage, dived after 
me. He was using explosive bullets and I could 



WINGED WARFARE 91 

^_ 1M I III I I... II. I I. .1 I II II ~ 

see them burst near me from time to time. One 
hit the machine about three feet from where I 
was sitting and exploded, but did no material 
damage. A little more dodging from these un- 
gentlemanly missiles, and a little more work, 
and my gun was right again. So I turned upon 
my pursuer. We fought round and round each 
other for a seemingly interminable time, when at 
last I saw my chance, darted behind him and gave 
him a short burst of fire. No effect. A second 
later I got him within my sights again and this 
time I fired very carefully. His machine gave 
a shiver, then began tumbling toward the earth 
completely out of control. I followed to within 
a few hundred feet of the ground, and as it was 
still plunging helplessly — I turned away. 

The sky around me now seemed entirely de- 
serted. It gave me time to speculate as to 
whether I should climb up to a nice, safe height 
of about two miles and then fly home, or whether 
I should streak it across the trenches as I had 
done the day before. Recalling some incidents 
of yesterday's adventures, however, I decided to 
climb! I proceeded upward in wide sweeping 
circles, looking all the time for any trace of my 
missing comrades. They were not visible, even 
at ten-thousand feet, so I flew around a bit more 
in the hope of finding them. 

My search was rewarded, not by meeting my 



92 WINGED WARFARE 

friends, but by the sudden appearance of two 
Hun machines flying in the direction of our lines. 
Drawing a little to one side so as to have a good 
look at them I discovered they were being es- 
corted and protected by three other machines 
flying well back of and above them. By quick 
thinking I estimated I could make a running at- 
tack on the lower two before the upper three 
could get into the affair. I closed in and fired a 
burst at the nearer of the two, but the second one 
got on my tail, and firing very accurately, gave 
me some of the most uncomfortable moments of 
my fighting career. One of his bullets grazed my 
cap as it passed my head, then crashed through 
the little wind-screen just in front of me. This 
was too much, so leaving my pursuit of the first 
machine, I turned and paid attention to Num- 
ber 2. Hun No. 1, in the meantime, evidently 
decided he had had enough, for he kept flying 
away as fast as he could. In turning on the sec- 
ond machine I chanced to find myself in an ideal 
position, and my first burst of fire sent him spin- 
ning in an uncontrolled nose dive, which ended a 
few seconds later in a "crash" just beneath me. 

I figured that by this time the upper three 
were due, and, turning, found all of them diving 
for me, firing with all their guns. There was no 
time for any choice of tactics on my part, so I 
headed for the enemy machines and flew directly 



WINGED WARFARE 93 

under them, managing to get in a good burst of 
fire upward at the leading two-seater that seemed 
particularly anxious for a fight. He wasn't so 
anxious as I had thought, however, for after the 
first exchange of shots he kept diving away and 
did not return. The other two, however, re- 
mained on the "field" of battle. I estimated by 
this time that I had only about forty rounds of 
ammunition left for my gun, but again there was 
no real choice for me. I had either to fight, or 
be attacked in a very nasty position; so I fought. 
My two adversaries had seen the previous com- 
bats, and when I showed fight toward them they 
seemed none too anxious to prolong the fray. 
I had just finished my last bullet when the two 
of them dived away in opposite directions and 
left me — "Lord of all I surveyed." 

There was not another machine in the sky now, 
and thankful for that fact, I headed for home 
with my throttle pushed wide open and landed 
without any more excitement. When I turned 
in my report, especially the part dealing with 
the fight with the formation of five enemy ma- 
chines, some of the squadron looked on me as 
some sort of wild man, or fire-eater just escaped 
from the Zoo. The Colonel telephoned up and 
said that I had better not fly any more that day, 
so I was given the afternoon off. 

As we had to be ready to fly with the dawn next 



94 WINGED WARFARE 

morning, we were early to bed on Easter night. 
As we turned in the British guns were roaring 
all along the far-reaching battle line. The whole 
horizon was lighted with their flashes, like the 
play of heat lightning on a sultry summer eve- 
ning. I knew the meaning and the menace in the 
booming of the cannon, but I slept the sound 
slumber of a little child. 



CHAPTER VIII 

DAWN was due at 5:30 o'clock on Easter 
Monday and that was the exact hour set 
for the beginning of the Battle of Arras. We 
were up and had our machines out of the hang- 
ars while it was still night. The beautiful weath- 
er of a few hours before had vanished. A strong, 
chill wind was blowing from the east and dark, 
menacing clouds were scudding along low over- 
head. 

We were detailed to fly at a low altitude over 
the advancing infantry, firing into the enemy 
trenches, and dispersing any groups of men or 
working troops we happened to see in the vicinity 
of the lines. Some phases of this work are known 
as "contact patrols," the machines keeping track 
always of the infantry advance, watching points 
where they may be held up, and returning from 
time to time to report just how the battle is 
going. Working with the infantry in a big at- 
tack is a most exciting experience. It means fly- 
ing close to the ground and constantly passing 
through our own shells as well as those of the 
enemy. 

95 



96 WINGED WARFARE 

The shell-fire this morning was simply inde- 
scribable. The bombardment which had been 
going on all night gradually died down about 
5 o'clock, and the Germans must have felt that 
the British had finished their nightly "strafing," 
were tired out and going to bed. For a time al- 
most complete silence reigned over the battle- 
fields. All along the German lines star-shells 
and rocket lights were looping through the dark- 
ness. The old Boche is always suspicious and 
likes to have the country around him lighted up 
as much as possible so he can see what the enemy 
is about. 

The wind kept growing stiff er and stiff er and 
there was a distinct feel of rain in the air. Pre- 
cisely at the moment that all the British guns 
roared out their first salvo of the battle, the skies 
opened and the rain fell in torrents. Gunfire 
may or may not have anything to do with rain- 
making, but there was a strange coincidence be- 
tween the shock of battle and the commencement 
of the downpour this morning. It was beastly 
luck, and we felt it keenly. But we carried on. 

The storm had delayed the coming of day by 
several minutes, but as soon as there was light 
enough to make our presence worth while, we 
were in the air and braving the untoward ele- 
ments just as the troops were below us. Lashed 
by the gale, the wind cut the face as we moved 



WINGED WARFARE 97 



against the enemy. The ground seemed to be 
one mass of bursting shells. Further back, where 
the guns were firing, the hot flames flashing from 
thousands of muzzles gave the impression of a 
long ribbon of incandescent light. The air 
seemed shaken and literally full of shells on their 
missions of death and destruction. Over and 
over again one felt a sudden jerk under a wing- 
tip and the machine would heave quickly. This 
meant a shell had passed within a few feet of 
you. As the battle went on the work grew more 
terrifying, because reports came in that several 
of our machines had been hit by shells in flight 
and brought down. There was small wonder of 
this. The British barrage fire that morning was 
the most intense the war had 'ever known. There 
was a greater concentration of guns than at any 
time during the Somme. In fact, some of the Ger- 
man prisoners said afterward that the Somme 
seemed a Paradise compared to the bombard- 
ments we carried out at Arras. While the Brit- 
ish fire was at its height the Germans set up a 
counter barrage. This was not so intense, but 
every shell added to the shrieking chorus that 
filled the stormy air made the lot of the flying 
man just so much more difficult. Yet the risk 
was one w r e could not avoid; we had to endure it 
with the best spirit possible. 

The waves of attacking infantry as they came 



98 WINGED WARFARE 

out of their trenches and trudged forward behind 
the curtain of shells laid down by the artillery, 
were an amazing sight. The men seemed to wan- 
der across No Man's Land, and into the enemy 
trenches, as if the battle was a great bore to 
them. From the air it looked as though they did 
not realise that they were at war and were tak- 
ing it all entirely too quietly. That is the way 
with clock-work warfare. These troops had been 
drilled to move forward at a given pace. They 
had been timed over and over again in march- 
ing a certain distance, and from this timing the 
"creeping," or rolling barrage which moved in 
front of them had been mathematically worked 
out. And the battle, so calmly entered into, was 
one of the tensest, bitterest of the entire world 
war. 

For days the battle continued and it was hard 
work and no play for everybody concerned. The 
weather, instead of getting better, as spring 
should, gradually got worse. It was cold, windy 
and wet. Every two or three hours sudden snow 
storms would shut in, and flying in these squalls, 
which obliterated the landscape, was very ticklish 
business. 

On the fourth day of the battle I happened to 
be flying about five hundred feet above the 
trenches an hour after dawn. It had snowed dur- 
ing the night and the ground was covered with a 



WINGED WARFARE 99 

new layer of white several inches thick. No 
marks of the battle of the day before were to be 
seen, the only blemishes in the snow mantle were 
the marks of shells which had fallen during the 
last hour. No Man's Land itself, so often a fil- 
thy litter, was this morning quite clean and white. 
Suddenly over the top of our parapets a thin 
line of infantry crawled up and commenced to 
stroll casually toward the enemy. To me it 
seemed that they must soon wake up and run; 
that they were altogether too slow; that they 
could not realise the great danger they were in. 
Here and there a shell would burst as the line 
advanced or halted for a moment. Three or four 
men near the burst would topple over like so 
many tin soldiers. Two or three other men would 
then come running up to the spot from the rear 
with a stretcher, pick up the wounded and the 
dying, and slowly walk back with them. I could 
not get the idea out of my head that it was just 
a game they were playing at; it all seemed so 
unreal. Nor could I believe that the little brown 
figures moving about below me were really men 
— men going to the glory of victory or the glory 
of death. I could not make myself realise the 
full truth or meaning of it all. It seemed that I 
was in an entirely different world, looking down 
from another sphere on this strange, uncanny 
puppet-show. 



100 WINGED WARFARE 

Suddenly I heard the deathly rattle of a nest 
of machine-guns under me, and saw that the line 
of our troops at one place was growing very thin, 
with many figures sprawling on the ground. For 
three or four minutes I could not make out the 
concealed position of the German gunners. Our 
men had halted, and were lying on the ground, 
evidently as much puzzled as I was. Then in a 
corner of a German trench I saw a group of about 
five men operating two machine-guns. They 
were slightly to the flank of our line and evidently 
had been doing a great amount of damage. The 
sight of these men thoroughly woke me up to the 
reality of the whole scene beneath me. I dived 
vertically at them with a burst of rapid fire. The 
smoking bullets from my gun flashed into the 
ground and it was an easy matter to get an ac- 
curate aim on the German automatics, one of 
which turned its muzzle toward me. 

But in a fraction of a second I had reached a 
height of only thirty feet above the Huns, so low 
I could make out every detail of their frightened 
faces. With hate in my heart I fired every bul- 
let I could into the group as I swept over it, then 
turned my machine away. A few minutes later 
I had the satisfaction of seeing our line again 
advancing, and before the time had come for me 
to return from my patrol, our men had occupied 
all the German positions they had set out to take. 



WINGED WARFARE 101 

It was a wonderful sight and a wonderful ex- 
perience. Although it had been so difficult to 
realise that men were dying and being maimed 
for life beneath me, I felt that at last I had seen 
something of that dogged determination that has 
carried British arms so far. 

The next ten days were filled with incident. 
The enemy fighting machines would not come 
close to the lines and there was very little doing 
in the way of aerial combats, especially as far as 
I was concerned, for I was devoting practically 
all of my time to flying low and helping the in- 
fantry. All of our pilots and observers were do- 
ing splendid work. Everywhere we were cover- 
ing the forward movement of the infantry, keep- 
ing the troops advised of any enemy movements 
and enabling the British artillery to shell every 
area where it appeared concentrations were tak- 
ing place. Scores of counter-attacks were broken 
up before the Germans had fairly launched them. 
Our machines were everywhere back of the enemy 
lines. It was easy to tell when the Germans 
were massing for a counter-stroke. First of all 
our machines would fly low over the grey-clad 
troops, pouring machine-gun bullets into them or 
dropping high explosive bombs in their midst. 
Then the exact location of the mobilisation point 
would be signalled to the artillery, so that the 
moment the Germans moved our guns were on 



102 WINGED WARFARE 

them. In General Orders commending the 
troops for their part in the battle, Field Marshal 
Sir Douglas Haig declared that the work of the 
Flying Corps, "under the most difficult condi- 
tions," called for the highest praise. 

.We were acting, you might say, as air police- 
men. Occasionally one of our machines would be 
set upon by the German gangsters — they were 
"careful" fighters and seldom attacked unless at 
odds of four to one — and naturally we suffered 
some casualties, just as the ordinary police force 
suffers casualties when it is doing patrol duty 
in an outlaw country. The weather was always 
favourable to the German methods of avoiding 
"open air" combats. Even the clearer days were 
marked by skies filled with clouds sufficiently 
large and dense to offer protection and hiding 
places to the high-winging Hun machines. 

I had several skirmishes, but did not succeed 
in bringing down another machine until the 20th 
of April, when I was fortunate enough to begin 
another series of extremely interesting and suc- 
cessful fights. I was promoted to be a Captain 
about this time and thought I was very happy, 
but the promotion was followed by another in- 
cident which really made me proud. The ser- 
geants of my squadron had made me a round 
"nose" for my machine. It fitted on the propel- 
lor head and revolved with it. I had it painted a 



WINGED WARFARE 103 

brilliant blue, and from that time on my ma- 
chine was known as "Blue Nose." It was given 
to me, the Sergeant Major explained, as a sign 
that I was an "Ace" — that I had brought down 
more than five machines. I was so pleased with 
this tribute from the men, that I took old "Blue 
Nose" visiting to several other squadrons where 
I exhibited my new mark of distinction to many 
of my friends and flying companions. 

The machine I got on the 20th of April was 
the first I ever destroyed in flames. It is a thing 
that often happens, and while I have no desire 
to make myself appear as a blood-thirsty person, 
I must say that to see an enemy going down in 
flames is a source of great satisfaction. You 
know his destruction is absolutely certain. The 
moment you see the fire break out you know that 
nothing in the world can save the man, or men, in 
the doomed aeroplane. You know there is no 
"camouflage" in this, and you have no fear that 
the enemy is trying any kind of flying trick in 
the hope that he will be left alone. 

I was flying over a layer of white clouds when 
I saw a two-seater just above me. We generally 
met the enemy in force during these days, but 
this German machine was all alone. Neither the 
pilot nor observer saw me. They flew along bliss- 
fully ignorant of my existence, while I carefully 
kept directly underneath them, climbing all the 



104 WINGED WARFARE 

time. I was only ten yards behind the Hun when 
I fired directly up at him. It had been an ex- 
citing game getting into position underneath 
him, carefully following every move he made, 
waiting, hoping and praying that he would not 
see me before I got into the place I wanted. I 
was afraid that if he did see me I would be at a 
distinct disadvantage below him. My hand must 
have been shaky, or my eye slightly out, because 
although I managed to fire ten rounds, I did not 
hit anything vital. Even in this crucial moment, 
the humour of the situation almost got the better 
of me. My machine seemed so little carefully 
flying there under the big, peaceful Hun, who 
thought he was so safe and so far from any dan- 
ger. Suddenly, from just underneath him he 
heard the "tat — tat — tat — tatter — tatter" of my 
machine-gun almost in his ear, the range was so 
close. Then he must have seen my smoking bul- 
lets passing all around him. Anyway, there was 
consternation in the camp. He turned quickly 
and a regular battle in the air began between the 
two of us. We manoeuvred every way possible, 
diving, rolling, stalling, he attempting to get a 
straight shot at me, while my one object was to 
get straight behind him again, or directly in 
front of him, so as to have a direct line of fire 
right into him. 

Twice I dived at him and opened fire from al- 



WINGED WARFARE 105 

most point-blank range, being within two lengths 
of him before I touched the lever which set my 
gun to spouting. But there was no success. The 
third time I tried a new manoeuvre. I dived at 
him from the side, firing as I came. My new tac- 
tics gave the German observer a direct shot at 
me from his swivel gun, and he was firing very 
well, too, his bullets passing quite close for a mo- 
ment or two. Then, however, they began to fly 
well beyond my wing-tips, and on seeing this I 
knew that his nerve was shaken. I could now 
see my own bullets hitting the right part of the 
Hun machine and felt confident the battle soon 
would be over. 

I pulled my machine out of its dive just in time 
to pass about five feet over the enemy. I could 
see the observer evidently had been hit and had 
stopped firing. Otherwise the Hun machine 
seemed perfectly all right. But just after I 
passed I looked back over my shoulder and saw 
it burst into flames. A second later it fell a 
burning mass, leaving a long trail of smoke be- 
hind as it disappeared through the clouds. I 
thought for a moment of the fate of the wounded 
observer and the hooded pilot into whose faces 
I had just been looking — but it was fair hunting, 
and I flew away with great contentment in my 
heart. 

This fight seemed to have changed my luck 



106 WINGED WARFARE 

for the better. Everywhere I went for the next 
few weeks enemy machines were easily found, and 
I had numerous combats, many of them success- 
ful. Some days I could have been accused of 
violating all the rules of a flying men's union (if 
we had had one) . I would fly as much as seven 
and a half hours between sunrise and sunset. 
Far from affecting my nerves, the more I flew 
the more I wanted to fly, the better I seemed to 
feel and each combat became more and more en- 
joyable. Ambition was born in my breast, and 
although I still dared not entertain hope of equal- 
ling the record of the renowned Captain Ball, 
who by this time had shot down over thirty-five 
machines, I did have vague hopes of running sec- 
ond to him. 

Along with the new ambition, there was born 
in me as well a distinct dislike for all two-seated 
German flying machines! They always seemed 
so placid and sort of contented with themselves. 
I picked a fight with the two-seaters wherever I 
could find one, and I searched for them high and 
low. Many people think of the two-seater as a 
superior fighting machine because of its greater 
gun power. But to me they always seemed fair 
prey and an easy target. One afternoon, soon 
after this new Hun hatred had become a part of 
my soul, I met a two-seater about three miles 
">ver the German lines and dived at him from a 



WINGED WARFARE 107 

very low height. As bad luck would have it, my 
gun had a stoppage, and while I turned away to 
right it, the enemy escaped. Much disgusted, I 
headed away homeward, when into my delighted 
vision there came the familiar outlines of another 
Hun with two men aboard. I flew at this new 
enemy with great determination, but after a short 
battle he dived away from me, and although I 
did my best to catch him up, I could not. He 
landed in a field underneath me. To see him 
calmly alight there under perfect control filled 
me with a towering rage. I saw red things be- 
fore my eyes. I vowed an eternal vendetta 
against all the Hun two-seaters in the world, 
and, the impulse suddenly seizing me, I dived 
right down to within a few feet of the ground, 
firing a stream of bullets into the machine where 
it was sitting. I had the satisfaction of knowing 
that the pilot and observer must have been hit, or 
nearly scared to death, for although I hovered 
about for quite a long time, neither of them 
stepped from the silent machine. 

Half an hour after this occurrence, I saw one 
of our machines in difficulties with three of the 
enemy. The Huns were so engrossed with the 
thought that they had a single British machine at 
their mercy, I felt there was a good chance that 
I might slip up and surprise them. My scheme 
worked beautifully. I came up to within fifteen 



108 WINGED WARFARE 

yards of one of the Huns and aiming my machine 
at him with dead accuracy, shot him down with 
my first ten bullets. He probably never knew 
where the bullets came from, not having the 
slightest idea another British machine was any- 
where in that part of the sky. I turned now to 
assist with the other two Huns, but by this time 
my brother pilot had sent one of them spinning 
out of control, while the last remaining enemy 
was making good his escape as fast as his Mer- 
cedes engine could pull him through the air. It 
is surprising sometimes how much dead resistance 
there is in the air when you are in a hurry. Hav- 
ing nothing better to do under the circumstances 
I dived down after my own victim to get a view 
of the crash. I was just in time. He struck the 
ground at the corner of a field, and what was 
one instant a falling machine was next a twisted 
bit of wreckage. 



CHAPTER IX 

IT was apparent to us by this time that the 
Germans were bringing their best pilots op- 
posite the British front to meet the determined 
offensive we had been carrying on since the first 
of April. Most of the machines we met were 
handled in a manner far above the German aver- 
age. Each night our pilots brought in exciting 
stories of the chase. Although they were a higher 
class of fighting men than we had hitherto flown 
against, the Germans still showed a reluctance 
to attack unless they outnumbered us by at least 
three to one. One lone German was induced to 
take a fatal chance against a British scout for- 
mation. By clever manoeuvring, at which the 
hostile airman was also quite adept, we man- 
aged to entice him to attack one of our ma- 
chines from behind. As he did so, a second Brit- 
ish machine dived at him, and down he went, one 
of his wings breaking off as he fell. 

I can best illustrate the German tactics of the 
time by telling the experience of one of our faith- 
ful old photographic machines, which, by the 
way, are not without their desperate moments 

109 



110 WINGED WARFARE 

and their deeds of heroism. All of which goes 
to show that the fighting scouts should not get 
all the credit for the wonders of modern warfare 
in the air. The old "photographer" in question 
was returning over the lines one day when it was 
set upon by no less than eleven hostile scouts. 
Nearly all the controls of the British machine 
were shot away and the observer, seriously 
wounded, fell half way out of the nacelle. Al- 
though still manoeuvring his machine so as to 
escape the direct fire of the enemies on his tail, 
the British pilot grasped the wounded observer, 
held him safely in the machine, and made a safe 
landing in our lines. A moment later the rid- 
dled aeroplane burst into flames. Under heavy 
shellfire the pilot carried the wounded observer 
to safety. 

One of the distinguished German flying squad- 
rons opposite us was under command of the fa- 
mous Captain Baron von Bichtofen. One day I 
had the distinction of engaging in three fights in 
half an hour with pilots from this squadron. Their 
machines were painted a brilliant scarlet from 
nose to tail — immense red birds, they were, with 
the graceful wings of their type — Albatross 
scouts. They were all single-seaters and were 
flown by pilots of undeniable skill. There was 
quite a little spirit of sportsmanship in this 
squadron, too. The red German machines had 



WINGED WARFARE 111 

two machine-guns in fixed positions firing 
straight ahead, both being operated from the 
same control. 

The first of my three fights with these new- 
comers in our midst occurred when I suddenly 
found myself mixed up with two of them. Evi- 
dently they were not very anxious for a fight at 
the moment, for after a few minutes of manoeu- 
vring, both broke it off and dived away. Ten 
minutes later I encountered one of the red ma- 
chines flying alone. I challenged him but he 
wouldn't stay at all. On the contrary, he made 
off as fast as he could go. On my return from 
chasing him I met a second pair of red Huns. I 
had picked up company with another British 
machine, and the two Huns, seeing us, dived into 
a cloud to escape. I went in after them, and on 
coming out again found one directly beneath 
me. Onto him I dived, not pulling the trigger 
until I was fifteen yards away. Once, twice, 
three time I pressed the lever, but not a shot 
from my gun! I slipped away into another cloud 
and examined the faithless weapon only to find 
that I had run completely out of ammunition. I 
returned home quite the most disgusted person 
in the entire British army. 

During the changeable days of the Arras of- 
fensive we had many exciting adventures with 
the weather. On one occasion I had gone back 



112 WINGED WARFARE 

to the aircraft depot to bring to the front a new 
machine. Sunshine and snow squalls were chas- 
ing each other in a seemingly endless procession. 
On the ground the wind was howling along at 
about fifty miles an hour. I arrived at the depot 
at 9 o'clock in the morning but waited about un- 
til 4 in the afternoon before the weather appeared 
to be settling down to something like a safe and 
sane basis. The sunshine intervals were grow- 
ing longer and the snow periods shorter, so I 
climbed into my machine and started off. It was 
only a fifteen minutes' fly to the aerodrome, but 
in that time a huge black cloud loomed up and 
came racing toward me. I was headed straight 
into the gale and the way was so rough from the 
rush of the wind and the heavy clouds floating 
by, that the little machine was tossed about like a 
piece of paper. Several times I thought I was 
going to be blown completely over. Occasional- 
ly, without any warning, I would be lifted a sheer 
hundred feet in the air. Then later I would be 
dropped that distance, and often more. I was 
perspiring freely, although it was a very cold 
day. It was a race against the weather to reach 
my destination in time. 

One cannot see in a snowstorm, and I felt that 
if the fleecy squall struck me before I sighted the 
aerodrome I would have to land in a ploughed 
field, and to do this in such a gale would be a 





MOUQUET FARM BEFORE AND AFTER SHELLING 

Center — Farm buildings photographed before the war. Above — An aerial photograph 
showing buddings and German trenches. Below — The ruins of farm and trenches 
alter being shelled. 



WINGED WARFARE 113 



very ticklish proposition. Added to all this, I 
was flying a machine of a type I had never han- 
dled before, and naturally it was a bit strange 
to me. Nearer and nearer the big cloud came. 
But I was racing for home at top speed. About 
half a mile from the haven I sought, the storm 
struck me. The moment before the snow deluge 
came, however. I had recognised the road that 
led to the aerodrome and coming down to fifty 
feet, where I could just make it out, I flew 
wildly on, praying all the time that the snow 
striking my engine would not cause it to stop. 
Then the awful thought came to me that perhaps 
I was on the wrong road. Then, even more sud- 
denly than it had come, the snow stopped — the 
storm had swept right over me. There, just 
ahead of me, I saw the tents and hangars and 
the flying pennant of the aerodrome — home. 
This was my first experience in flying through 
snow and I did not care for another. 

A few days after my unsuccessful experience 
with the red Richtofen scouts, I got my just re- 
venge and a little more back from the Huns. 
My Major had been told to have some photo- 
graphs taken of a certain point behind the Ger- 
man lines, and by special permission, he was 
given the privilege of taking them himself. The 
point to be photographed was about seven miles 
in German territory and in order to make a sue- 



114 WINGED WARFARE 

cess of the snap-shotting it would be necessary to 
have a strong escort. The Major offered to go 
out and do the photographs on his own, without 
an escort, but the Colonel would not hear of it, 
and so it was arranged that an offensive patrol 
would go out at 9 o'clock in the morning, meet the 
Major at a given point, and escort him over the 
ground he wished to cover. 

My patrol was the one working at the time 
and I was the leader. At 9 :30 we were to meet, 
just east of Arras, at 6,000 feet. The rendez- 
vous came off like clockwork. I brought the 
patrol to the spot at 9.28 and two minutes later 
we spied a single Nieuport coming toward us. 
I fired a red signal light and the Nieuport an- 
swered. It was the Major. I then climbed 
slightly and led the patrol along about a thou- 
sand feet above the Nieuport in order to pro- 
tect the Major and at the same time keep high 
enough to avoid too much danger from anti- 
aircraft fire. We got to the area to be photo- 
graphed without any other excitement than a 
very heavy greeting from the "Archies." There 
were a number of big white clouds floating 
around about 6,000 feet, and these made it dif- 
ficult for the guns to shoot at us. But they also 
made it difficult for the Major to get his photo- 
graphs. We went around and around in cir- 
cles for what seemed an eternity. During one 



WINGED WARFARE 115 

of these sweeping turns I suddenly saw four ene- 
my scouts climbing between two clouds and some 
distance off. I knew they would see us soon, so 
it occurred to me it would be a brilliant idea 
to let the enemy think there was only one British 
machine on the job. Under these circumstances 
I knew they would be sure to attack, and then 
the rest of us could swoop down and surprise 
them. I had no intention of letting the Major 
in for any unnecessary risks, but it seemed such 
a rare chance I could not resist it. 

I led the patrol about two thousand feet higher 
up and there we waited. The enemy scouts did 
not see us at all, but they did see the Major. 
And they made for him. The first the Major 
knew of their approach, however, was when they 
were about 200 yards away, and one of them, 
somewhat prematurely, opened fire. His 
thoughts — he told me afterward — immediately 
flew to the patrol, and he glanced over his shoul- 
der to see where we were. But we had vanished. 
He then wondered how much money he had in 
his pockets, as he did not doubt that the four 
Huns, surprising him as they had, would surely 
get him. Despite these gloomy and somewhat 
mercenary thoughts, the Major was fighting for 
his life. First he turned the nose of his machine 
directly toward the enemy, poured a burst of bul- 
lets toward a German at his right, then turned 



116 WINGED WARFARE 

to the left as the second machine approached 
in that direction and let him have a taste of 
British gunfire as well. This frightened the 
first two Huns off for a moment — and, in that 
time, I arrived on the scene with the rest of the 
patrol. 

One of the Huns was firing at the Major's 
machine as I flashed by him, and I fired at a bare 
ten yards range. Then I passed on to the sec- 
ond enemy machine, firing all the while and 
eventually passing within five feet of one of his 
wingtips. Turning my machine as quickly as 
I could I was yet too late to catch the other 
two of the formation of four. They had both 
dived away and escaped. I had hit the two that 
first attacked the Major, however, and they were 
at the moment falling completely out of control 
a thousand or more feet below me, and finally 
went through the clouds, floundering helplessly 
in the air. 

This little interruption ended, we all reas- 
sembled in our former positions and went on 
with the photographing. This was finished in 
about fifteen minutes, and, under a very heavy 
anti-aircraft fire, we returned home. The epi- 
sode of the four Huns was perhaps the most 
successful bit of trapping I have ever seen, but 
it was many weeks before the squadron got 
through teasing me for using our commander 



WINGED WARFARE 117 

^^"" ^ _ ^_____„ ___. _____ ■■■«—■«■■_«•_■■_«»» 

as a decoy. I apologised to the Major, who 
agreed with me that the chance was too good a 
one to miss. 

"Don't mind me," he said; "carry on." 



CHAPTER X 

JUST to show there was no hard feeling, the 
Major that afternoon proposed some excite- 
ment of an entirely different sort. There was 
no patrol marked down for us, so the Major took 
another pilot and myself out on a sort of Cook's 
tour. We called it "seeing the war." We all 
piled into an automobile, drove through poor old 
shell-torn Arras, which was fairly stiff with 
troops moving up toward the front, and with 
relieved divisions that were coming out of the 
line for hard-earned rest. Occasionally there 
was the screech of a "Whistling Percy" overhead 
— a shell from a long-range 16-inch naval gun 
some miles beyond the German lines. It was 
vastly different from flying, this motoring 
through Arras, threading your way tediously in 
and out of the marching troops and the intermin- 
able traffic of offensive warfare. 

Finally we passed the railway station, which 
had long been a favourite target for the German 
gunners, but still showed some semblance of its 
former utility; turned "dead man's corner" into 
the road for Cambrai, proceeded over what had 

119 



120 WINGED WARFARE 

once been our front line, then over the old No 
Man's Land and finally came to a halt some 
miles beyond the city. There we left the car 
behind the crest of a hill, and out of direct ob- 
servation from the enemy trenches which were 
not very far away. We were very bold, we 
three musketeers of the upper air, as we set out 
afoot, without a guide, to make our way toward 
a German machine that had been brought down 
a few days before just inside our lines. 

On the way we had to pass about thirty bat- 
teries of artillery and as no one said anything 
to us we presumed we were all right in strolling 
along in front of them. The guns seemed harm- 
less enough, sitting there so cold and silent. 
However, before we had gone so very far, a 
man crawled out of a hole in the ground and 
told us that if we were going anywhere in par- 
ticular we had better hurry, as a battle was due 
to start in just five minutes. We questioned him 
about the "show," and then decided to walk on 
as fast as we could and reach the village of 
Monchy, which sat a mass of ruins on a little 
hill, and was just two hundred yards within our 
lines. 

Monchy-le-Preux, to give the little town the 
full dignity of its Artois name, is about five 
miles east of Arras and was the final fixed ob- 
jective of the Easter drive. It is the highest 



WINGED WARFARE 121 

bit of ground between Arras and the German 
border. Around it swirled some of the most 
desperate fighting of the entire war. It had 
been a pretty little place up to a few days be- 
fore, but the moment the Germans had been 
driven from their defensive works about the vil- 
lage, many of them at the point of the bayonet, 
the German artillery was turned on Monchy 
in a perfect torrent of explosive shells. What 
had once been houses quickly disappeared, or 
were dissolved into jagged ruins. Our infan- 
try had found three bed-ridden French civilians 
still living in Monchy when we took it, but for- 
tunately for them they had been passed back to 
one of our hospitals before the Boches started 
their destructive bombardments. 

It was just 3 o'clock when all the guns behind 
us opened fire over our heads. I must admit that 
I was at least "nervous" for the next half hour. 
Shells were going over us by the thousand, and 
pretty soon the Germans started their retalia- 
tory fire. Many of the Boche shells landed quite 
near to us. We could see them explode and 
throw up from the ground great fountains of 
earth and debris, but we could not hear them on 
account of the roar of our own artillery. 

There we were, the three of us, in the midst 
of a battle that we didn't know a thing on earth 
about. My nervousness grew perceptibly as I 



122 WINGED WARFARE 

looked around and realised that in the whole of 
the country there was not another soul walking 
about. Every one was under cover, or dug in 
somewhere, except us three. However, we de- 
cided there was no going back; so we went on. 
Our taking refuge in Monchy was surely a 
case of ignorance being bliss. We crawled into 
the wrecked village, having passed without know- 
ing it, another "Dead Man's Corner" far dead- 
lier than the one in Arras itself. This Monchy 
corner had a specialty of its own — machine-gun 
fire. The Germans used to rake it many times 
a day. Evidently they were engaged in some 
other nefarious occupation as we walked blithely 
by the place. We walked gaily on into the vil- 
lage, then down the main street, picking our way 
carefully in a zig-zag course among the debris. 
About this time another good Samaritan hailed 
us. He came dashing out of a house and told 
us to run for cover. Not knowing any cover 
of our own, we followed him to his. He led us 
into a deep dugout the Germans had built dur- 
ing their occupancy of the town. We told our 
guide and friend that we wanted to move on 
very shortly, but he laughed and said we would 
have no choice in the matter for the next few 
hours. He knew the habits of the Huns in that 
particular locality. Promptly at 4 o'clock the 
Germans began their daily bombardment. Our 



WINGED WARFARE 123 

friend and guide, now turned philosopher, told 
us the Germans had the dugout "registered" 
very accurately and it would be unsafe to move 
from it until the firing was over for the day. 
We were shut up in this hole for an hour or 
more, when we decided to take our chances and 
go home. 

We were very much worried in the meantime, 
that our car, resting on the high road, might 
have been hit. Everything pointed to the fact that 
it was time for us to go. So, in a temporary 
lull, we crawled out and made a dash through 
the village. We did not leave by the same way 
we had come. We knew too much by this time 
of "Dead Man's Corner." Once clear of Monchy 
we noticed that a large number of shells were 
dropping in a sort of barrier about 400 yards 
in front of us. We pressed on, nevertheless, 
in the hope that there would be a sufficient lull 
in the firing to let us slip through the shell line. 
No lull appeared imminent, however, so we 
turned away to the right to avoid the particular 
spots that apparently had aroused the Germans' 
ire. We had not gone far when a huge shell 
dropped about thirty yards from us. It knocked 
two of us clean off our feet, and on our backs 
in the mud. It was rude, we thought, to treat 
three unoffending airmen out for a holiday, like 
this, so we were more than ever anxious to get 



124 WINGED WARFARE 

out of it all. At last we arrived at some dere- 
lict tanks, left over from last week's battles, 
and there we found an ammunition column pass- 
ing back from the guns. We climbed aboard 
one of the empty limbers, glad of the lift and 
gladder still of the company of these imper- 
turbable khaki soldiers who were taking the 
events of the afternoon with that strange spirit 
of boredom one so often finds up near the firing 
lines. 

We told the drivers we had left our car over 
the hill near a stranded tank, and they assured 
us they were going in that very direction. So we 
sat peacefully on the rattling limber for a mile 
or more. Then being quite certain we were go- 
ing the wrong way, we inquired of the ammuni- 
tion column men how far it was to their tank. 
They said it was just ahead of us. We looked. 
There was a tank, quite all right, but it was not 
our tank. A little more explaining to the sol- 
diers that were now quite plentiful about us, 
and we were informed that our tank was at 
least a mile and a half away. We had made a 
stupid mistake, but we paid up for it in the 
muddy walk we had back. 

The car was perfectly safe when we got to it, 
and some time later we returned to the aero- 
drome right as rain. We had picked up a lot 
of souvenirs during our walk into Monchy and 



WINGED WARFARE 125 

out again, and felt like Cook's tourists indeed 
when Tommies on the way would look at us with 
a tolerant smile. 

These were wonderfully interesting days to 
me. Late the next afternoon I had the good 
fortune to be a spectator of the greatest fight 
in the air I have ever seen. Thrilling fights are 
often witnessed from the ground, but more of 
them take place at heights so misty that ground 
observers know nothing of them, unless one or 
more of the combatants should come tumbling 
down in a crash. More than often fights in the 
air would go unobserved if it were not for the 
"Archie" shells breaking in the sky. These 
shells play about friend and foe alike, but when 
you are really intent upon an air duel the 
"Archies" make no impression upon you what- 
ever. 

It was my privilege this day to see the spec- 
tacular fight from my machine. I had been 
idling along in the afternoon breeze, flying all 
alone, when I saw in the distance a great num- 
ber of machines, whirling, spinning and rolling 
in a great aerial melee. I made toward them as 
fast as I could go, and as I approached watched 
the fight carefully. It was very hard to tell for 
a time which machines were ours and which were 
the Huns'. Coming nearer it was easier, for 
then the Huns could be distinguished by the 



126 WINGED WARFARE 

brilliant colouring of many of their machines. 
Hunting the Huns had taken on a new in- 
terest at this time because suddenly their ma- 
chines had appeared painted in the most gro- 
tesque fashion. It was as if they had suddenly 
got an idea from the old Chinese custom of 
painting and adorning warriors so as to frighten 
the enemy. We learned afterward that it was 
just a case of the spring fancies of the German 
airmen running riot with vivid colour effects. We 
wanted to paint our machines, too, but our bud- 
ding notions were frowned upon by the higher 
officers of the Corps. But every day our pilots 
were bringing home fresh stories of the fantas- 
tic German creations they had encountered in 
the skies. Some of them were real harlequins 
of the air, outrivalling the gayest feathered birds 
that had winged their way north with the spring* 
The scarlet machines of Baron von Richtofen's 
crack squadron, sometimes called the "circus," 
heralded the new order of things. Then it was 
noticed that some of the enemy craft were painted 
with great rings about their bodies. Later noth- 
ing was too gaudy for the Huns. There were 
machines with green planes and yellow noses; 
silver planes with gold noses; khaki coloured 
bodies with greenish grey planes; red bodies 
with green wings; light blue bodies and red 
wings; every combination the Teutonic brain 



WINGED WARFARE 127 

could conjure up. One of the most fantastic 
we had met had a scarlet body, a brown tail, 
reddish brown planes, the enemy markings be- 
ing white crosses on a bright green background. 
Some people thought the Germans had taken 
on these strange hues as a bit of spring camou- 
flage, but they were just as visible or even more 
so in the startling colours they wore, and we put 
it down simply to the individual fancies of the 
enemy pilots. 

The battle seemed to be at about evens when 
suddenly I saw a German machine, brightly col- 
oured, fall out of the melee, turning over and 
over like a dead leaf falling from a tree late 
in autumn. I watched it closely for what seemed 
an awful length of time, but finally it crashed, 
a complete wreck. Turning my eyes to the fight 
again, I saw one of our own machines fall out 
of control. Half way between the scrimmage 
and the ground I thought it was coming into 
control again, but it turned into another dive 
and crashed near the fallen Hun. A moment 
later a second German machine came tumbling 
out of the fight. Eaten up with anxiety to get 
into the fight myself, I could not help having a 
feeling akin to awe as I watched the thrilling 
struggle. A mass of about twelve machines 
was moving around and around in a perfect 
whirlwind, and as I approached I could see our 



128 WINGED WARFARE 

smoking bullets and the flaming missiles of the 
Huns darting in all directions. 

Just as I reached the scene, the fight, unfor- 
tunately for me, broke up, and my participation 
in it was limited to a short chase and a few shots 
after the fleeing Germans. 

Balloon attacks now came into fashion again, 
and for a short time we were told to attack them 
every day. In my case most of these attacks 
were unsuccessful. One day I crossed after a 
balloon only 2,000 feet up. Although I flew 
as fast as I could to reach the "sausage" it had 
been hauled down before I got to it. Despite 
this, I flew low and attacked the gas bag, but 
with no apparent results. The balloon still sat 
there peacefully on the ground. Some enemy 
machines were in the distance attacking one of 
the men of my squadron who was after another 
"sausage," and I flew to his assistance and man- 
aged to frighten them off. I then returned to 
the balloon, had another go at it — but again 
no result. It was discouraging work. 

That day, out of three of us who crossed to 
attack the balloons one man was lost. His ex- 
perience was rather a bitter one, but he fought 
death under such a heavy handicap and with 
such bravery that his story is worthy of relation 
as one of the traditions of the Royal flying serv- 
ice. It was his first attack on the balloons and 



WINGED WARFARE 129 

he crossed the lines with me. We separated 
when about half a mile over. When he dived 
after his balloons, two Hun machines got on 
his tail, and with their first burst of fire man- 
aged to hit both of his legs, breaking one. A 
second afterward a shot went through his petrol 
tank and the inflammable liquid poured over his 
helpless legs. But wounded as he was he fought 
back at the Germans and managed to get back 
over our lines. The two Germans, realising he 
was badly hit, kept after him, and with another 
burst of fire shot away all his controls and at 
the same time set fire to the machine. It dived 
to the earth a flaming torch, and crashed. Some 
brave Tommies who were near rushed frantically 
into the blazing wreckage and pulled the unfor- 
tunate pilot out. He was taken to a hospital 
where we found him, badly burned, one leg and 
one arm broken, and several bullet wounds in 
his body. 

For two weeks he improved steadily, and we 
all had high hopes of his recovery. Then the 
doctors found it necessary to amputate his broken 
leg, and two days later the poor lad died. He 
had been in France but a few weeks. 

"I came half way 'round the world from Aus- 
tralia to fight the Hun," he told one of our men 
in hospital. "I served through the campaign 
at Gallipoli as a Tommy, and at last I got where 



130 WINGED WARFARE j 

I longed to be — in the flying corps. It seems! 
hard to have it end like this so soon." 

There was joy in flying these later days in 3 
April when a tardy spring at last was beginning 
to assert itself. The hardness of the winter was! 
passing and the earth at times was glorious to! 
see. I remember one afternoon in particular I 
when the whole world seemed beautiful. Wei 
were doing a patrol at two miles up about six s 
o'clock. Underneath us a great battle was rag- 1 
ing and we could see it all in crisp clearness, I 
several lines of white smoke telling just where ] 
our barrage shells were bursting. The ground 
all about the trenches and the battle area was E 
dark brown where it had been churned up by I 
the never ceasing fire of the opposing artillery. 
On either side of the battle zone could be seen j 
the fields, the setting sun shining on them with 
the softest of tinted lights. Still farther back — ■ 
on both sides — was the cultivated land. The i 
little farms stood out in varying geometric de- 
signs, with different colours of soil and shades 
of green, according to what had been sown in 
them and the state of the coming crops. There 
was no mist at all, and one could see for miles 
and miles. 

From Arras I could see the British Channel, 
and it resembled more a river of liquid gold than 



WINGED WARFARE 131 

a sea. Across the Channel it was possible to 
make out England and the Isle of Wight. The 
chalk cliffs of Dover formed a white frame for 
one side of the splendid picture. Toward Ger- 
many one could see a tremendous wooded coun- 
try, a stretch of watered lowlands beyond the 
trees, and the rest indistinct. To the South I 
could make out a bit of the River Seine, while 
to the North lay the Belgian Coast. The mar- 
vellous beauty of it all made the war seem im- 
possible. We flew peacefully along for miles in 
the full enjoyment of it all, and I shall be glad 
always we did not have a fight that evening. It 
would have brought me back to stern reality with 
too sudden a jerk. 

A few days later I was away from the beau- 
ties in life and after the grossly hideous balloons 
again. Success rewarded one of my earnest ef- 
forts. It happened one morning when we had 
been patrolling the air just above the trenches. 
It was a very dull morning, the clouds being 
under 3,000 feet. Well across the lines I could 
make out the portly form of a German balloon 
sitting just under them. The sight of the "sau- 
sage" filled me with one of those hot bursts of 
rage I had so often in these days against every- 
thing German in the world. After the finish of 
the patrol, I had my machine filled up with 
petrol, and with a good supply of special amrau- 



132 WINGED WARFARE 

nition started out on a voluntary expedition to 
bring down that fat and self-satisfied balloon. 
Upon nearing the lines I flew up into the clouds, 
having taken a careful compass bearing in the 
exact direction of my intended victim. Flying 
slowly at a rate of sixty miles an hour, I crept 
steadily forward, taking reckonings now and 
then from the compass and my other flying in- 
struments. I figured the balloon was six miles 
over the lines and as I had climbed into the clouds 
about one mile behind our own lines, I figured 
that seven minutes should let me down just where 
I wanted to be. I popped out of the clouds 
with every nerve tense, expecting to find the 
sausage just beneath me. Instead, I found noth- 
ing, not even a familiar landmark. I felt pretty 
sick at heart when I realised I had lost myself. 
My compass must have been slightly out of 
bearing, or I had flown very badly. At that 
moment I had no idea where I was. I flew in 
a small circle, and then spied another balloon 
quite near me. The balloon had seen me first, 
the "S. O. S." had gone out, and it was being 
hauled down with miraculous swiftness. I dived 
for the descending German as hard as I could go 
and managed to get within fifty yards while it 
was still 800 feet up. Opening fire I skimmed 
just over the top of the balloon, then turned 
to attack again when to my great joy I saw the 



WINGED WARFARE 133 

bag was smoking. I had seen no one leap from 
the observer's basket hanging underneath, so I 
fired a short burst into it just to liven up any- 
body who happened to be sitting there. The 
sausage was then smoking heavily, so I flew 
south in the hope of finding some landmark that 
would tell me the way home. 

Suddenly another balloon loomed before me, 
and at the same time I recognised by the ground 
that it was the "sausage" I had first set out to 
attack. I fired the remainder of my ammunition 
at it at long range, but had no effect so far as 
I could see. I then came down to fifteen feet 
of the ground and flew along a river bank that 
I knew would lead me home. I had found this 
low flying over enemy land quite exhilarating 
and rather liked the sights I used to see. 

During the next week I had three or four 
very unsatisfactory combats. My work con- 
sisted mostly of sitting patiently over the lines 
waiting for an enemy to appear. Then, after 
it would put in an appearance, I would care- 
fully watch for an opportunity and attack, only 
to have the Hun escape. I was mostly concerned 
with my old friends, the enemy two-seaters, es- 
pecially the ones that would fly at low altitudes 
doing artillery observation work. I would try 
to get behind a cloud, or in one, and surprise 
them as they went by. I managed to pounce 



134 WINGED WARFARE 

upon several machines from ambush* but had no 
luck at all in the succeeding combats. On such 
occasions I would return much disgusted to the 
aerodrome and put in more time at the target. 

I began to feel that my list of victims was 
not climbing as steadily as I would have liked. 
Captain Ball was back from a winter rest in 
England and was adding constantly to his al- 
ready big score. I felt I had to keep going if 
I was to be second to him. So I was over the 
enemy lines from six to seven hours every day, 
praying for some easy victims to appear. I had 
had some pretty hard fighting. Now I wanted 
to shoot a "rabbit" or two. Several times while 
sitting over the lines I was caught badly by anti- 
aircraft fire, and had to do a lot of dodging and 
turning to avoid being badly hit by the singing 
shrapnel shells. As it was I frequently returned 
with scars, where bits of shell had pierced my 
planes and fuselage. 

One day I saw a two-seater flying calmly along 
about three miles high. I started to climb up 
under him and it seemed to me I was hours on 
the way, for he had seen me and was climbing 
as well. Eventually I reached his level, but we 
were then nearly four miles from the earth. The 
air was so thin I found it difficult to get my 
breath. It was coming in quick gasps and my 
heart was racing like mad. It is very difficult to 



WINGED WARFARE 135 

fly a single-seater at such altitudes, much less 
to fight in one. The air is so rare that the small 
machines, with their minimum of plane surface, 
have very little to rest upon. The propeller 
will not "bite" into the thin atmosphere with 
very much of a pull. But despite all this I de- 
cided to have a go at the big German two-seater, 
and we did a series of lazy manoeuvres. I real- 
ised I was unable to put much energy into the 
fighting, and the only shot I got at the Hun 
I missed! At the height we had met, the Hun 
machine was faster than mine, so in a few minutes 
he broke off the combat and escaped. 

I spent half an hour under another enemy 
machine, trying to stalk him, but he finally got 
away. During the time I was "hiding" under 
the two-seater I was quite happy in the belief 
that he could not bring a gun to bear on me. But 
when I landed I found several bullet holes in 
the machine close to my body. After that I kept 
a sharper lookout on the fellows upstairs. 

One day, after climbing slowly to 17,000 feet 
and still finding no victims, I flew fifteen miles 
inside the German lines, hoping to catch some 
unwary enemy aloft. At last, about half a mile 
beneath me, I saw a lone scout. I carefully 
manoeuvred to get between him and the sun, 
for once there I knew he could not see me and 
I would have all the advantage of a surprise 



136 WINGED WARFARE 

attack. I was within twenty yards and going 
about 130 miles an hour, when I opened fire. 
Not more than ten shots had sped from my gun 
when the Hun went spinning down in a nose 
dive, seemingly out of control. I dived after 
him firing steadily, and we had dropped some- 
thing like 3,000 feet when the enemy machine 
burst into flames. 

During my dive I had seen a black speck in 
the distance which looked as though it might be 
a Hun. So I climbed again and made in the 
direction of the speck, hoping it would turn out 
to be an enemy machine. It did, and I suc- 
ceeded in getting in another surprise attack, but 
my shots hit no vital spot and the German slid 
away in safety. 

A few minutes later I saw a third Hun and 
again I manoeuvred for the advantage of the 
sun position. But the pilot either saw me be- 
fore I got into the blinding rays, or else he saw 
the other machine diving away and thought some- 
thing was wrong, for he, too, dived steeply be- 
fore I could get within effective range. 

However, I was very well pleased with the 
day's work, for I had sent my second machine 
down in flames. Such an incident has never 
failed to put me in a good humour. It is so 
certain and such a satisfactory way of destroying 
Huns. 




MAJOR BISHOP AND NIGGER 



CHAPTER XI 

THE 30th of April was a red letter day for 
me. I celebrated it by having a record 
number of fights in a given space of time. In 
one hour and forty-five minutes I had nine sepa- 
rate scraps. This was during the morning. Be- 
fore we had tea that afternoon, the Major and 
I had a set-to with four scarlet German scouts 
that was the most hair-raising encounter I have 
ever been mixed up in. 

This very pleasant fighting day started when 
I led my patrol over the lines, and dived so 
steeply after an enemy machine which suddenly 
appeared beneath me, that I nearly turned over. 
The remainder of the patrol lost me completely. 
I kept putting the nose of my Nieuport down 
until I got beyond the vertical point. I fell 
forward in my seat and struck my head against 
the little windscreen. I was going down so fast 
I upset my aim completely, and allowed the 
Hun, by a quick manoeuvre, to escape me alto- 
gether. The patrol had disappeared so I climbed 
up as fast as I could to have a look around. 

Five minutes later I saw two huge Huns di- 

137 



138 WINGED WARFARE 

a i 

directly over our lines. They were easily mam- 
moths of the air. I wanted to have a look at the 
strangers, so started in their direction, keeping 
my own level, which was a little beneath the big 
Germans. They grew rapidly in size as I ap- 
proached, and I took them to be some new type 
of two-seater. From later experiences and dia- 
grams I have seen, I think now they must have 
been the three- seater Gothas — like the machines 
that later flew over London so often, many of 
them coming to grief as the penalty of their 
daring. 

This was probably the first appearance of the 
Gothas over our lines. A few days later I had 
another glimpse of two of them in the distance, 
but that was the last I saw of the monstrous 
Germans. This day they seemed rather keen 
for a fight, and one of them came down in a 
slow spiral to get at me. I, at the same time, 
was trying to stay in the "blind spot" just be- 
neath him, and hoped eventually to get a steady 
shot at some vital point. We must have made 
a ludicrous picture, little me under the huge 
Hun. I felt like a mosquito chasing a wasp, 
but was willing to take a chance. 

While manoeuvring with the first monster, 
the second one dived at me from a slight angle 
and seemed to open fire with a whole battery of 
machine-guns. I dived to gain a little more 



WINGED WARFARE 139 

speed, then pulled my nose straight up into the 
air and opened fire. When I had got off about 
fifteen rounds the gun jammed, and I had to 
dive quickly away to see what was wrong. I 
found I could do nothing with it in the air, but 
my aerodrome was only a few miles away, so 
I dived down to it, corrected the jam, and was 
away again in a few minutes in search of more 
excitement. 

I was very peevish with myself for having 
missed a chance to bring down one of the big 
new German machines, and was in a real fighting 
temper as I recrossed the lines. I had not gone 
far on my way when I saw three of the enemy 
about two miles away, doing artillery work. I 
dived for the nearest one and opened fire. Then 
I had the somewhat stirring sensation of seeing 
flaming bullets coming from all three of the 
Huns at once in my direction. The odds were 
three to one against me, and each enemy ma- 
chine had two guns to my one, but suddenly they 
quit firing, turned, and fled away. I went after 
them, but suddenly saw the game they were 
attempting to play. They were trying to lead 
me directly under five scarlet Albatross scouts. 

These scarlet machines, as I have explained 
before, all belonged to von Richtof en's squadron. 
I saw them just in time to turn away. I drew 
off about a mile then easily outclimbed my bril- 



140 WINGED WARFARE 

liant red rivals. Having gained the advantage 
of position I decided to have a go at the crack 
German flyers. I dived toward them with my 
gun rattling, but just before reaching their level 
I pulled the machine up and "zoomed" straight 
up in the air, ascending for a short distance with 
the speed of a rocket. Then I would turn and 
dive and open fire again, repeating the perform- 
ance several times. The Huns evidently had ex- 
pected me to dive right through them, but my 
tactics took them by surprise and they began 
to show nervousness. After the third "zoom" 
and dive, the formation broke up and scattered. 
Then I turned around to look for the treach- 
erous two-seaters who had sought to lead me 
into a veritable death trap. I had searched 
several minutes before I picked them out of the 
sky, and I can still remember the thrill of joy 
with which I hailed them. It had seemed such 
a rotten trick, when they were three to one, not 
even to show fight, but simply try to trick me. 
I felt I must have vengeance, and went after 
them with the firm conviction that this time 
something was going to happen. I got into po- 
sition where they would pass in front of me and 
dived at the second Hun. His observer was 
firing at me, and pretty soon the other two Huns 
chimed in. Add to this staccato chorus the 
healthy rattle of my own gun and you may gain 



WINGED WARFARE 141 

some idea of the din we were making in mid- 
air. My first twenty shots silenced the observer 
in the machine I was attacking, and as I passed 
over it, it suddenly slipped to one side, then 
stood on its nose, and fell. I did not have time 
to watch this machine down, but turned to at- 
tack the third Hun in the line. He had seen his 
comrade's fate, however, and, losing heart, had 
begun to dive away. I poured fifty rounds after 
him, then let him go. The leading machine had 
now disappeared, so I was left free to dive down 
and see what had happened to the Hun who had 
fallen out of the fight. He crashed in the most 
satisfactory manner. I turned and flew south, 
feeling very much better. 

But I was not idle long. The iive scarlet 
scouts had gotten together again and were ap- 
proaching our lines further south with the evi- 
dent intention of attacking isolated British ar- 
tillery machines. This particular squadron had 
made a habit of sneaking across our lines during 
the spring, and its leader had become known 
among our infantry as the "Little Red Devil," 
and one still hears him spoken of by the people 
who were in the trenches at that time. We had 
often tried to catch him on one of these expedi- 
tions, but he and his scarlet followers always 
chose a moment when our fighting patrols were 
engaged on another sector of the front. Then, 



142 WINGED WARFARE 

dashing across the lines, the red Albatrosses 
would shoot down one of our older machines 
which we were employing then on observation 
work. 

This morning I had an extra feeling of bitter- 
ness toward the Richtofens for their mean at- 
tempt to trick, and I went after them again with 
a feeling of exalted strength. I was above them 
as before and after one dive, they turned away 
east and gave up their idea of setting upon our 
artillery workers. I considered it unwise to go 
down and actually mix it in the middle of them, 
as they were all good men. So I contented my- 
self with harassing them from above as I had 
done in the previous fight with the quintet that 
morning. They were apparently much annoyed 
at this and kept steadily on their way east. I 
followed for quite a distance and then sat over 
them as one by one they all went down and 
landed. 

On the way home I had a skirmish with two 
German artillery machines, but we did not get 
within very close range of each other and noth- 
ing happened. They were frightened a bit, none 
the less, and sped away. In a little while, how- 
ever, they plucked up courage and came back 
to resume their work of spotting for the Ger- 
man guns. This time I tried going at them 
from the front, and it proved exciting to say the 



WINGED WARFARE 143 

least. I approached the leading Hun of the 
pair head on, opening fire when about two hun- 
dred yards away. He also opened fire about the 
same time. We drew nearer and nearer to- 
gether, both firing as fast and direct as we could. 
I could see the Hun bullets going about three 
feet to one side of me, passing between my up- 
per and lower planes. My own were doing bet- 
ter work, and several times it seemed certain 
that some of them were hitting the front of the 
enemy machine. On we came, each doing over 
a hundred miles an hour, which would have 
meant a colliding impact of more than two hun- 
dred miles an hour. With big engines in front 
of us for protection we were taking the risks of 
each other's bullets. Thirty yards away we were 
both holding to our course, and then, much to 
my relief, be it confessed, the Hun dived, and I 
thought I had hit him. I turned yuickly, but 
in doing so lost sight of him completely. Then 
a second later I saw him, some distance away, 
going down in a slight glide, evidently quite un- 
der control, but I think badly hit. The other 
machine followed him down and neilher of them 
returned. I had very little ammunition left but 
stayed on the lines another fifteen minutes hop- 
ing for one more fight. 

It came when I sighted one of my favourites 
— an enemy two-seater — at work. I got directly 



144 WINGED WARFARE 

above him, then dived vertically, reserving my 
fire until I was very close. The enemy observer 
had his gun trained up at me and the bullets 
were streaming past as I came down. I missed 
him on my dive, so shot by his tail, then "zoomed" 
up underneath and opened fire from the blind 
spot there. 

I don't know what was the matter with my 
shooting this morning, for with the exception 
of the machine I hit from the side, it seemed to 
have become a habit with my enemies to dive 
away from me and escape. I did not seem to 
be able to knock them out of control. This one, 
like the others, dived steeply, and though I fol- 
lowed and fired all of my remaining bullets after 
him, he continued in his long straight dive and 
landed safely in the corner of a field near the 
city of Lens. Two or three "Archie" batteries 
took "bites" at me as I crossed the lines for 
luncheon. 

Then came my thrilling adventure of the after- 
noon. The many experiences of the morning 
had put me in good humour for fighting, and 
immediately the midday meal was finished, I was 
up in the air again, with my squadron com- 
mander, to see if there were any Huns about 
looking for a bit of trouble. We patrolled along 
the lines for twenty minutes, but saw nothing in 
that time. Then, as I was leading, I headed fur- 




PHOTOGRAPH OF A TOWN IN FRANCE, 
TAKEN FROM THE AIR 



WINGED WARFARE 145 

ther into enemy territory, and presently, to the 
south of us, we saw five Albatross scouts. We 
went after them, but before we had come within 
firing distance, we discovered four red Alba- 
trosses just to our right. This latter quartette, 
I believe, was made up of Baron von Richtofen 
and three of his best men. 

However, although we knew who they were, 
we had been searching for a fight, and were feel- 
ing rather bored with doing nothing, so after 
the four we went. The Major reached them 
first and opened fire on the rear machine from 
behind. Immediately the leader of the scouts 
did a lightning turn and came back at the Major, 
firing at him and passing within two or three 
feet of his machine. In my turn, I opened fire 
on the Baron, and in another half -moment found 
myself in the midst of what seemed to be a 
stampede of blood-thirsty animals. Everywhere 
I turned smoking bullets were jumping at me, 
and although I got in two or three good bursts 
at the Baron's "red devil," I was rather bewil- 
dered for two or three minutes, as I could not 
see what was happening to the Major and was 
not at all certain as to what was going to hap- 
pen to me. 

It was a decided difference from the fighting 
of the morning. The Germans seemed to be 



146 WINGED WARFARE 

out to avenge their losses and certainly were 
in fighting trim. Around we went in cyclonic 
circles for several minutes, here a flash of the 
Hun machines, then a flash of silver as my squad- 
ron commander would whizz by. All the time 
I would be in the same mix-up myself, every 
now and then finding a red machine in front of 
me and getting in a round or two of quick shots. 
I was glad the Germans were scarlet and we were 
silver. There was no need to hesitate about 
firing when the right colour flitted by your nose. 
It was a lightning fight and I have never been 
in anything just like it. Firing one moment, 
you would have to concentrate all your mind 
and muscle the next in doing a quick turn to 
avoid a collision. Once my gun jammed, and 
while manoeuvring to the utmost of my ability 
to escape the direct fire of one of the ravenous 
Germans, I had to "fuss" with the weapon until 
I got it right again. I had just got going again 
when von Richtof en flashed by me and I let him 
have a short burst. Is I did so, I saw up above 
me four more machines coming down to join in 
the fight. Being far inside the German lines, I 
at once decided they were additional Huns, so I 
"zoomed" up out of the fight to be free for a 
moment and have a look around. The moment 
I did this I saw the approaching machines were 



WINGED WARFARE 147 



tri-planes, belonging to one of our naval squad- 
rons, and they were coming for all they were 
worth to help us against the Albatrosses. The 
latter, however, had had enough of the fight by 
now, and at the moment I "zoomed" they dived 
and flew away toward the earth. I did not know 
this until I looked down to where the fight should 
still have been in progress. There was nothing 
to be seen. Everybody had disappeared, includ- 
ing the Major. It was a sad moment for me, 
for I felt I had surely lost him this time. After 
circling over the spot for five minutes or more, 
and exchanging signals with the tri-planes, I 
started for home with a heavy heart. 

On the way I saw another machine approach- 
ing me, and got into fighting position in the 
event it should prove hostile. As we drew nearer 
together I recognised it as another Nieuport, 
and then, to my great joy I realised it was the 
Major. He had flown west at top speed as soon 
as he saw the fight was over and I was not to 
be seen. He was afraid I had followed the Huns 
down to the ground in my excitement, and was 
very anxious as to what had happened to me. 
Upon recognising each other we waved our 
hands in the air, then came close enough together 
to exchange broad grins. We flew side by side 
to the aerodrome and landed. I found my ma- 



148 WINGED WARFARE 

chine had been very badly shot about, one group 
of seven bullets having passed within an inch of 
me in one place. It had been a close shave, but a 
wonderful, soul-stirring fight. 



CHAPTER XII 

THE first few days in May we spent escort- 
ing machines taking photographs. It was 
rather exciting work, for several times we went 
very long distances into Hunland and stayed 
over there for hours. It is also very nerve-rack- 
ing work, as you listen constantly for the least 
break in the smooth running of your motor, 
knowing that if it fails you are too far from 
home ever to get there by gliding. At such 
times my thoughts always reverted to the ig- 
nominy one would feel in helplessly landing 
among the Germans and saying "Kamerad!" 
Far better to die in a fight, or even yield up the 
ghost to a despised "Archie" rather than tamely 
submit to being taken prisoner. Then, too, all 
the time you are loafing about taking snapshots 
from the air, the anti-aircraft fire gets very fierce. 
On one occasion we went over to photograph 
an aerodrome in the vicinity of Douai, a city 
you can see from the top of Vimy Ridge on any 
clear day. We had with us in all about twenty 
machines, and were a very formidable party in- 
deed. As luck would have it we spied two Ger- 

149 



150 WINGED WARFARE 

mans. With two or three other of our fighting 
pilots, I quickly dodged to one side to try to 
engage the Huns before they could see the whole 
crowd of us and be frightened away. But, no 
luck! They made off the minute we turned our 
noses in their direction. We proceeded over 
Douai, and in turning around once or twice, the 
machine actually taking the photographs was 
lost. I mean by lost that it got mixed-up with 
the rest of us and it was practically impossible 
in that number of machines to pick it out again. 
The result was we went around and around in 
circles for half an hour trying to find out where 
it had gone. It was like an old-fashioned game 
of "Button, button, who's got the button?" and 
was so amusing I had to laugh. Around and 
around we went. The strain began to get on 
the nerves, of course, as every minute seemed to 
be an hour, and we all felt we should be getting 
away from there as soon as possible. But when 
you are in great danger, the smallest things 
make a keen appeal to your sense of humour, 
and the idea of the whole twenty of us playing 
such a foolish game in such a dangerous spot, 
could not help having its funny side. Several 
of the others on landing told me they had felt 
the same way about it, and had had many good 
laughs. 

Needless to say, the anti-aircraft guns under 



WINGED WARFARE 151 

us were having the time of their unprincipled 
lives. They never had had such a huge bunch 
of good targets to shoot at, so they blazed into 
the midst of us with all the "hate" they had. But 
we had the luck, and hardly a machine was 
touched. We were flying at 13,000 feet, and 
that seemed lucky in itself. Many shells broke 
with loud bangs just under us and over us, but 
none at 13,000 feet. We were annoyed but not 
worried. 

Finally, somebody got fed up with all this 
running around in aerial circles, and started to- 
ward home. We had all been waiting for some- 
thing like that to happen and every one of us 
streaked off in the leader's wake. We got back 
safely enough, but to add to the fiasco of the ex- 
pedition, it turned out that the man who was 
taking the photographs made some awful error 
and snapped the wrong places altogether. For 
a period of fully half an hour he had to listen 
patiently and quietly while the rest of us tried 
to think up a punishment to fit the crime. Later 
that afternoon, we had to eat all our words, for 
while we were lunching and discussing the morn- 
ing's work, the photographer pilot, all alone and 
without further orders, had quietly gone over 
the lines, taken the proper pictures and re- 
turned safely with them. It was a brave thing 
to do and we admired him for it. 



152 WINGED WARFARE 

The next day was a very successful one for 
me. I had several fights, and for one was later 
awarded the "Distinguished Service Order" — 
my second decoration. We had been tak- 
ing photographs again, with another large 
escort, as on the day before, and were re- 
turning homeward when an enemy single-seater 
approached slightly below us. I went down and 
attacked him and we fought for quite a while, 
exchanging shots now and then, with no result 
other than the escape of the enemy. The other 
machines had continued on their way and were 
nowhere to be seen when I climbed away from 
my unsuccessful duel. Being left alone, and 
of no further use to the photographers, I felt I 
might as well look around a bit. My search for 
enemy machines soon was rewarded. I came 
upon five of them doing artillery observation 
work. They were all two-seaters, and conse- 
quently my legitimate prey. The Huns were 
nicely arranged in two parties, one of two and 
the other of three. I decided that as the party 
of three was nearer, I would tackle it first. Re- 
membering my former experience in diving into 
three enemy artillery machines, I was wary of 
a trap, but went after the bunch with a firm de- 
termination I would not make a "hash" of it. 
The trio made away as I approached. Furious 
at the thought that they should escape scot free, 



WINGED WARFARE 153 

I forgot my caution and went after them pell- 
mell. I didn't care at the time whether there 
were any hostile fighting machines above me 
or not. I wanted to teach the cowardly two- 
seaters a justly deserved lesson. Catching up 
to within 200 yards of the rear one, I saw that 
all three were firing at me from their back guns. 
I was so much faster than the Huns I could 
zig-zag on my course — wondering as I did so if 
I resembled an ocean grey-hound dodging a 
submarine! Finally I closed to within twenty 
yards of the fleeing Germans and let go at them. 
The rear machine was my easiest target. Soon 
I saw my bullets going into the observer's body, 
and I feel sure some of them must have passed 
on from him to the pilot who was seated di- 
rectly in front. The observer's face was white 
as a sheet, and, out of pure terror, I think, he 
had ceased to fire at me. The pilot now was 
gazing back over his shoulder and was too fright- 
ened to manoeuvre his machine. He had turned 
into a sort of human rabbit, and was concerned 
only with running for his life. Fifteen rounds 
from my gun sufficed for that machine. Down 
it tumbled, a stricken and dying thing. 

As the other two machines were some distance 
off, I did a circle to see the falling Hun crash. 
When I did this, the other two suddenly re- 
turned underneath me and opened fire from a 



154 WINGED WARFARE 

spot where I could not see them — one coming 
within a hundred yards. Almost at the same 
moment that they attacked, four enemy scouts 
came diving out of the clouds, two of them fir- 
ing as they dived at me. I turned on the nearer 
of the two-seaters and firing forty rounds at 
him from the side managed to shoot him down. 
I then went straight at the four scouts, opening 
fire on one that was coming straight head-on. 
He swerved slightly at the last, and flashed by 
me. I ducked away into a cloud to consider the 
situation for a moment, but in the mist, in my 
excitement, I lost control of my machine and 
fell in a spinning nose dive for quite a distance. 
When I flattened out at last, the enemy scouts 
had flown away, but there beneath me, still 
slowly spinning to his fate, was my second two- 
seater. Three of the missing scouts now ap- 
peared some distance above me. I decided it 
was not a very healthy spot, and made away 
for home, perfectly content with having added 
two more Hun scalps to my score. 

It was great flying weather, and next day I 
had four fights in forty-five minutes. I could 
have had more, but had to return for want of 
fuel and ammunition. First of all I spotted 
two of my favourite two-seaters doing their daily 
observations, some three miles on the German 
side of the lines. I was very careful now about 



WINGED WARFARE 155 

the way I approached these people, and went at 
it in a more or less scientific manner. Climbing 
to just under the top of a cloud, where I was 
more or less invisible, I watched them carefully 
for five whole minutes as they went back and 
forth on their beat, and I carefully figured out 
just where I could catch them when they were 
nearest our lines. I also kept a very close eye 
on some enemy fighting patrols lurking in the 
distance. Picking a moment when they were 
well away, I flew over some more sheltering 
clouds, then came down and dashed at the two 
Huns. I managed to get twenty rounds into 
the nearer one, and pretty good shots they were, 
too, but nothing seemed to happen. At least 
nothing happened to the Hun, but something 
went wrong with my engine, and fearing it would 
fail me altogether, I broke off the fight and 
made for home. 

Just after I made our lines, the engine began 
running perfectly, so I went back for my two- 
seaters. Only one of them remained. This con- 
vinced me that the other machine had been hit 
badly enough to make him descend. The one 
left behind was very wary, and I saw I could 
not get within two miles of him. So I gave him 
up as a bad job, and flew up and down the lines 
until I discovered another pair of two-seaters. 
These also proved to be shy and I chased them 



156 WINGED WARFARE 

well back into their own country. It is dis- 
couraging work, and very aggravating, to chase 
machines that will not fight. For my part, I 
find that I get in a tremendous temper and am 
very apt to run unnecessary risks when I meet 
another enemy. It is a case of anything to re- 
lieve one's feelings. 

The last twenty minutes of the three quarters 
of an hour were spent first in stalking an enemy 
scout, that also escaped; then the two machines 
I had previously attacked in my second fight, 
some minutes before. But again I was unable 
to get within close range of them, although I 
finally flew above and got between them and 
their own aerodrome. I dashed at the two head- 
on, but finished my ammunition before I had 
done any damage. 

In the afternoon I had three more fights, the 
first one being very unsuccessful from my point 
of view, but certainly a very exciting affair. I 
was out with my own patrol, six machines strong, 
and we had not been on the lines very long be- 
fore we met up with a lone Hun two-seater. 
From a distance he looked like one of the shy 
fellows I had been chasing most of the morning, 
and I led the patrol straight at him, quite con- 
fident in my own mind that he was going to be 
an easy victim. I was convinced of this when 
at first he appeared inclined to run away. I 



WINGED WARFARE 157 

opened fire at him at 200 yards, whereupon a 
marvellous thing happened. The German pilot 
turned in a flash and came head on into the six 
of us, opening fire with two guns. Much to our 
amazement, he flew right through the centre of 
our formation. The unexpected audacity of the 
Hun caught us entirely off our guard. It was a 
bad bit of work for us to let him go right through 
us, and we were all deeply disgusted. We 
turned on the fellow with all the fury there was 
in us, but he was quite ready for us. We seemed 
to be fighting very badly, and the honours were 
not coming our way. The fight lasted about 
three minutes, and during that time I, for one, 
was caught badly by the German. While try- 
ing to correct a stoppage in my gun, he turned 
on me and got in a very fierce burst of fire, some 
of the bullets passing close to my body. He 
also got one of the others a few seconds later 
trying to do the same thing, and then, to cap 
the climax, he turned away, broke off the com- 
bat, and escaped as free as a bird, with probably 
only a few bullet holes in his machine. He must 
have been a very fine pilot, and a very brave 
man, for he put up a wonderful fight, and I 
have not the slightest hesitation in saying he 
probably enjoyed it much more than we did. 

A little later I was flying around when I saw 
dead beneath me a green and black machine, 






158 WINGED WARFARE 

with huge black crosses painted on it. It was 
one of the new type of enemy scouts, and, as I 
later discovered, had a very good man piloting 
it. I dived at him, but he did a great turn, climb- 
ing at the same time, and by a clever manoeuvre 
managed to get directly behind me. I had a 
hard time getting rid of him, as he had me in 
a very awkward position, and every second for 
several minutes I expected that one of his bul- 
lets which were passing close by me would find its 
mark. 

But even in a perilous time like this, my sense 
of humour would out, and I thought of a verse 
from "The Lobster Quadrille": 

"Will you walk a little faster," 

Said a whiting to a snail ; 
"There's a porpoise close behind us, 

And he's treading on my tail !" 

I did not like that Hun porpoise at all, and 
he was treading on my tail like the very shadow 
of Death itself. However, he made a slight 
mistake on one of our turns, and a few sec- 
onds later I got into a position where the fight 
began anew on slightly different terms. For 
several minutes we flew around in a circle, both 
getting in occasional bursts of fire. Out of the 
corner of my eye I saw some scarlet German 
machines approaching, so I snatched at an op- 



WINGED WARFARE 159 

portunity that suddenly appeared and escaped. 
A few minutes later, on returning to that spot, 
I saw that the Hun scouts had found another 
one of our machines by itself, and were all at- 
tacking it. So I came down from above and cre- 
ated a momentary diversion by opening fire with 
my last ten rounds, and thus gave the British 
machine a chance to escape. Our pilot slid speed- 
ily out of the fray. 

We were up late that night attending a show 
given for the squadron by a travelling troupe of 
concert people from the Army Service Corps. 
It was past midnight when I got to bed, and I 
was up again at four, having an early morning 
job on hand. I will never forget the orderly 
who used to wake me in those days. He posi- 
tively enjoyed it. 

After a cup of hot tea and a biscuit, four of 
us left the ground shortly after five. The sun 
in the early mornings, shining in such direct 
rays from the east, makes it practically impos- 
sible to see in that direction, so that these dawn 
adventures were not much of a pleasure. It 
meant that danger from surprise was very great, 
for the Huns coming from the east, with the sun 
at their back, could see us when we couldn't see 
them. At any rate, one doesn't feel one's best 
at dawn, especially when one has had only four 
hours' sleep. This was the case on this bright 



160 WINGED WARFARE 

May morning, and to make matters worse there 
was quite a ground mist. The sun, reflecting 
on this, made seeing in any direction very diffi- 
cult. 

We had been doing a patrol up and down the 
line for an hour and a quarter, at a very high 
altitude where it was cruelly cold, so I decided 
to lead the patrol down lower. There did not 
seem to be an enemy in the air, and for a mo- 
ment I think my vigilance was relaxed. I had 
begun to dream a bit, when suddenly a burst of 
machine-gun fire awakened me to the fact that 
there was a war on. Not even taking time to 
look from whence it all came, I pulled my ma- 
chine up and turned it like lightning, looking 
over my shoulder during the whirl. This in- 
stinctive manoeuvre saved my life. An enemy 
machine, painted a beautiful silver, was coming 
vertically down at me firing. He just missed 
me with his bullets, and "zooming" up again, he 
made a second dive. This time I pulled my ma- 
chine back, and with my nose to the sky, I fired 
at the Hun as he came down. I then flew side- 
wise and evaded him that way. It had been a 
clear case of surprise so far as I was concerned 
and I had a very narrow squeak from disaster. 

Altogether, there were five Huns in the at- 
tacking force, against the four of us. We were 
flying in diamond formation, and the pilot bring- 



WINGED WARFARE 161 

ing up our rear had seen the Huns just before 
the attack, but not in time to warn us. Count- 
ing the five enemy pilots he wondered which one 
of us was going to be attacked by two Huns 
instead of one? The next moment he saw the 
Germans split up as they dived at us, and he 
was the unfortunate one to draw the two. It 
was a lucky thing for the rest of us, taken wholly 
by surprise, that we each had but a single ma- 
chine to deal with. Our rear guard was better 
prepared, and although we all had our troubles, 
we managed to clear away without injury. 

Next day we had rather a dramatic touch. 
After the morning's work we were sitting at 
luncheon, and the second course had just been 
served when a telephone message came through 
that two enemy machines were at work on the 
lines. They were directing artillery fire of several 
hostile batteries on some of our important points. 
The request came through from the front line 
to send somebody out at once and drive the un- 
desirables away. Talk about Wellington at the 
Battle of Waterloo! This had that beaten in 
every way. We felt like a lot of firemen, and 
in a very few minutes after we got the message, 
another pilot and I were out over the trenches. 
Five minutes later we were engaged in deadly 
combat with the two enemy machines. They 
had seen us as we approached. We were hun- 



162 WINGED WARFARE 

gry, and were anxious to get back to our mut- 
tons. So there was no shilly-shallying about the 
fight — it was a case of going in and finishing it 
in the shortest possible order. So the two of us 
waded in side by side, opening fire on the rear 
enemy. With our first burst of fire, it dived on 
its nose, did a couple of turns as it fell, and 
finally crashed into a field beside the river. We 
then turned our attention to Hun No. 2, but 
he was a mile away by this time and winging it 
for home as fast as ever he could. We were 
willing to waste ten minutes more away from the 
festive board to have a go at him, but he showed 
no sign of returning, and we streaked home 
to our interrupted meal. It had all been very 
short and sweet, and most successful. 

I had now come to the conclusion that to be 
successful in fighting in the air, two things were 
required above all others. One was accuracy 
in shooting, and the second was to use one's 
head and take no unnecessary risks. Conse- 
quently my plans from about this time forward, 
were to take a minimum of risks, and when- 
ever things looked at all doubtful, or bad, to 
immediately make my escape, and wait patiently 
for another opportunity. The patience part in 
carrying out this campaign was the hardest, but 
I managed to control myself, and found it much 



WINGED WARFARE 163 

more effective than constantly blundering into 
danger like a bull in a china shop. 

For instance, one day I saw a single enemy 
scout flying at a tremendous altitude. I climbed 
up carefully some distance from him, and got 
between him and the sun, then waiting until he 
was heading in exactly the opposite direction, I 
came down with tremendous speed and managed 
to slip underneath him without being even seen. I 
could make out each mark on the bottom of his 
machine as I crept closer and closer. My gun 
was all ready, but I withheld its fire until I came 
to the range I wanted — inside of twenty yards. 
It was rather delicate work flying so close under 
the swift Hun, but he had no idea that I was 
in existence, much less sitting right below him. 
I carefully picked out the exact spot where I 
knew the pilot was sitting, took careful aim, and 
fired. Twenty tracer bullets went into that spot. 
The machine immediately lurched to one side and 
fell. 

I had to quickly skid my machine to one side 
to avoid being hit by the falling Hun. After 
he had passed me a little way, I saw him smok- 
ing. Then he burst into flames. That pilot 
never knew what happened to him. Death came 
to him from nowhere. 

Shortly after this, learning by accident that 
a patrol from another squadron was going across 



164 WINGED WARFARE 

to take photographs, I offered to accompany 
them as escort, and was accepted. The anti- 
aircraft fire that day was really terrible. I flew 
well above the photographers and was more or 
less out of reach of the "Archies," but the other 
machines were getting it hammer and tongs. All 
got through the barrage, however, and we pro- 
ceeded to get our pictures. Then we headed 
straight for home. About this time I noticed 
several of the "little red devils" flying about un- 
derneath us, so I watched them carefully, sus- 
pecting they were climbing to attack some of 
the photography machines. I also began to 
climb so as to be practically out of sight in the 
blue sky, and I managed to fool them altogether. 
Two of the devils soon came at one of our ma- 
chines, and at the same time I dived into them. 
One of the pair turned away, but I managed 
to get in a good shot at the second one at thirty 
yards. He immediately flew out of control and 
I watched him falling for what seemed to be 
a long time. I was now down to the level of 
the photographers and remained with them for 
the rest of the trip. The "Archies" gave us an- 
other hot greeting as we recrossed the lines. I 
kept dodging about as quickly as I could, for 
the fire was too close to be pleasant. Shells were 
bursting everywhere. There was no use turning 
to the right, for you would stick your nose into 



WINGED WARFARE 165 

two or three exploding shells in that direction. 
And there was no use turning to the left, for 
three or four would be bursting there. They 
seemed to fill every nook and corner of the air. 
I was greatly tempted to put my engine full 
out and leave the patrol to get home by itself, 
but I did not. I stuck with the heavier machines, 
dodging around them like a young sparrow 
among a lot of crows. 

The photographic machines were badly hit, 
and three of them had been so damaged they 
could not be used again. My own machine was 
hit in several places, and I never looked back 
upon that volunteer excursion as one of the 
pleasant experiences in my young life. This was 
the last fighting I had for two weeks, as the next 
day I went to England on two weeks' leave. 



CHAPTER XIII 

WHEN I left for my leave to England, I 
was not very keen on going. The ex- 
citement of the chase had a tight hold on my 
heart-strings, and I felt that the only thing I 
wanted was to stay right at it and fight, and fight 
and fight in the air. I don't think I was ever 
happier in my life. It seemed that I had found 
the one thing I loved above all others. To me 
it was not a business or a profession, but just 
a wonderful game. To bring down a machine 
did not seem to me to be killing a man; it was 
more as if I was just destroying a mechanical 
target, with no human being in it. Once or 
twice the idea that a live man had been piloting 
the machine would occur and recur to me, and 
it would worry me a bit. My sleep would be 
spoiled perhaps for a night. I did not relish 
the idea even of killing Germans, yet, when in 
a combat in the air, it seemed more like any 
other kind of sport, and to shoot down a ma- 
chine was very much the same as if one were 
shooting down clay pigeons. One had the great 
satisfaction of feeling that he had hit the tar- 

167 



168 WINGED WARFARE 

get and brought it down; that one was victo- 
rious again. 

When I reached England, however, I found 
I was in a very nervous condition. I could not 
be still. After a week there, in which I enjoyed 
myself tremendously, I found I was getting 
quieter, and realised that my leave was prob- 
ably doing me a world of good. My last week 
of leave I enjoyed without stint, every minute 
seeming better than the one before. To make 
it still more ideal I did not have the usual dread 
of going back to France — I was looking for- 
ward to it. I realised that this short rest had 
quieted my nerves, and had left me in a much 
better state of health, so that when the two 
weeks were up and the day came for my return 
I gladly got on the train leaving Charing Cross, 
and all day looked forward to my return to the 
squadron. By great luck, I managed to catch 
an automobile going in my direction from Bou- 
logne, and arrived at the aerodrome the same 
night I had left London. I felt like a small boy 
returning home for his holidays. I was plied 
with questions as to what "Good old England" 
looked like, what I had done and what was hap- 
pening in "Blighty," and in my turn I was full 
of questions as to what had happened in the 
squadron while I was away. Many things had; 
several people had been killed, and quite a num- 



WINGED WARFARE 169 

ber of Hun machines had been shot down by 
our pilots. A great many exciting and a great 
many amusing fights in the air were related. 

It was typical of the attitude of these com- 
rades of mine that when a man had been in an 
exceedingly tight corner, and had managed to 
squeeze out of it, it was later related as a very 
amusing, not as a very terrible incident, and as 
the narrator would tell his story the others would 
shriek with laughter at the tale of how nearly 
he had been hit and how "scared" he had been. 
It was such a wonderful way to take life that 
upon looking back at it I feel that nothing the 
future can ever hold for me can excel those won- 
derful days. Face to face with death every day, 
but always with the best of comrades and the 
most tried of friends, it has left a wonderful 
memory with me. 

The day after rejoining the squadron, I did 
my first job at nine o'clock in the morning. I 
must admit I felt very funny in the machine. 
I seemed to have lost all "feel" of it and could 
not turn or fly it properly at all. However, 
that day I had two jobs, and by the end of the 
second luckily had run into no exciting episodes. 

Then came the reaction. I felt a wonderful 
thrill at being back in the air again, and hand- 
ling my beloved Nieuport. It seemed that noth- 
ing was dangerous, and that to throw this ma- 



170 WINGED WARFARE 

chine about in the air, was just the best sport 
that had ever been invented. I remember rac- 
ing along close to the ground, seeing how close 
I could make my wing tips come to the sheds 
and trees without hitting them. It was all just 
a wonderful thrill, and no thought of peril en- 
tered my head. That evening I went up and 
spent an hour in flying, just for the pure pleas- 
ure of it. Life was as sweet as it could be, and 
I saw the world through rose-coloured glasses. 

That night the romance of our life at the 
front was brought home to me again. We spent 
the evening after dark standing around a piano, 
while one of our number played popular songs, 
the remainder singing in loud and varied keys, 
going on the principle that if you cannot sing 
at least you can make a joyful noise. 

About nine o'clock a party of ten others ar- 
rived from a squadron stationed near us, and 
we had more music and songs with them. Every- 
body was happy; flying and fighting had been 
forgotten for the moment, and war was a thing 
far, far away. Toward the end of the party 
we went to the farm yard nearby, appropriated 
some small pigs only a few months old, and 
placed them in the room of one of our pilots who 
was dining out. Then, about eleven o'clock, 
when he had come back, we went into the next 
room to listen through the thin partition to his 




WELL-EARNED HOURS OF LEISURE 



WINGED WARFARE 171 

remarks when he entered his pig-filled boudoir. 
In a small space about 10 by 6, over fifteen of 
us were jammed anxiously waiting for the cli- 
max of the evening. In the other room the little 
pigs were grunting away merrily, and it was 
all we could do to keep from roaring with laugh- 
ter. It was pitch black, and with the funny 
little squeals coming through the partition, there 
would occasionally be a bit of a scamper, for al- 
though we at first placed the pigs on the bed, on 
looking over the partition I saw they were mov- 
ing around the room in formation, one of their 
number evidently having assigned himself the 
position of leader of the pork patrol. 

Unfortunately, the episode fell through mis- 
erably, as the pigs took up a station near the 
door, and when the owner of the room returned 
and opened it he walked across to light his lamp. 
The pigs, seeing the opening before he had seen 
them, made a dash and managed to get out, with 
a great chorus of squealing. They hid under 
the huts, and it took the rest of us several hours 
to find them and take them back to their mother. 

After going to bed, I was awakened by one 
of my dogs scampering out of the hut. I list- 
ened for a minute and heard voices outside, got 
up and walked out in my pajamas. It was a 
perfect moonlight night, without a breath of 
wind, and bright as could be. Outside two or 



172 WINGED WARFARE 

three others were standing in pajamas, and after 
asking what was the matter I was told there 
was a German machine overhead. Listening 
carefully, I could hear the beat of a Mercedes 
engine about a mile away. We could not see 
the Hun but could hear him quite distinctly as 
he flew past. Then came the explosions as a few 
bombs were dropped, and then more explosions 
as the anti-aircraft guns located the moonlight 
marauder and began to fire. We could see little 
bursts of flame as the shells exploded high in 
the air. It was a beautiful show. The light was 
too bright even to see the stars, but these fierce 
little bursts of flame dotted the sky first in one 
spot, then in another, and gradually travelled 
in a line towards the trenches, as the enemy made 
in that direction. He got away safely, however, 
and we returned to bed. 

In our home in a beautiful green orchard, our 
life was full of the most extraordinary contrasts. 
One minute we were as far removed from the 
war as if we were in South America, and an hour 
later we would be fighting for our lives or carry- 
ing on in some way directly connected with the 
mad world struggle. It all added to the lure of 
life and somehow made the real fighting, when 
it came, seem less real and tragic. 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE second day after my return, I began 
another three months of strenuous battles. 
The squadron had been assigned a new kind of 
work to do, in addition to regular patrol. This 
lasted throughout a great part of the month of 
June, and gave us some very strenuous morn- 
ings, although the afternoons were generally 
easier. 

My first fight occurred in the early morning, 
about seven o'clock, when I was leading a pa- 
trol. The clouds were very low, being about 
four thousand feet, the lower part of each cloud 
having a thin hanging mist about it. This made 
it possible to fly just in the mist, without being 
seen at more than two hundred yards. 

I had been gazing far into enemy territory, 
and suddenly saw five enemy scouts dive out of 
the clouds; then after coming in our direction 
for a moment or two, dive back into the mist. I 
thought they were trying to surprise us, and 
crawled up as close to the clouds as I could, 
heading in their direction. Suddenly they 
loomed up just in front of us, and evidently 

173 



374 WINGED WARFARE 

were more surprised than we were. I only man- 
aged to get in a short burst, when my machine 
gun jammed hopelessly, but the remainder of 
the patrol gave chase to the Huns, as they turned 
to run and scattered them helter-skelter. One 
man appeared to be hit, and one of my men went 
after him in a vertical dive to one thousand feet 
from the ground, when the enemy suddenly re- 
gained control, and darted across his own lines, 
escaping. 

Later in the day I went out by myself, and, 
flying over Vimy Ridge and Lens, was watch- 
ing a ground battle taking place there, when 
suddenly I saw a single scout of the enemy, un- 
derneath me. He did not see me, and I dived 
at him and managed to fall into the much desired 
position just behind his tail. I opened fire, and 
my tracer bullets could be seen going all around 
the pilot's seat. I had considerable speed from 
my dive, and was going much faster than he 
was, so whirled past him. Then, to avoid get- 
ting him behind me, I "zoomed" up, and after 
reaching five hundred feet above, made a quick 
turn to see what had happened. To this day, 
I have not the faintest idea what happened. My 
enemy entirely disappeared from view. I looked 
all around underneath, and everywhere else, but 
could not see him. Later, I telephoned to the 
anti-aircraft batteries and infantry stations near 



WINGED WARFARE 175 

the front line trenches, but they could give no 
information. That particular Hun must have 
dissolved. 

Ten minutes later, I had another fight. I had 
seen, some distance away, two of the enemy. 
They were fighting machines, so I reconnoitered 
carefully, and a little later discovered two more 
Huns were flying two thousand feet above them. 
I climbed up, and looked carefully from a dis- 
tance at these; then climbed a little higher, with 
the idea of attacking them, when I suddenly 
saw two more Huns, 3,000 feet above the sec- 
ond pair. It was a layer formation, and a fa- 
vourite trap of the Huns, their idea being that 
our machines would come along and attack the 
lower pair, in which case the middle pair would 
1 come down on top of them leaving the highest 
pair in reserve. This had been tried innumer- 
able times, and had been more or less successful, 
but, long since, our people had become wise and 
always watched for anything of that sort. By 
pure luck, that morning, I saw the top pair, 
and, flying away off to one side, climbed as fast 
as I could until two thousand feet above them; 
then followed along. I was quite certain there 
was no fourth pair, and also knew that the third 
pair would be very keen on watching under- 
neath them to see that their comrades were not 
attacked. It was a case of the trappers trapped ; 



176 WINGED WARFARE 

and, successful on this occasion, I was always 
on the lookout for the same sort of thing after 
that day, and succeeded in bringing down some 
of the top-side people on several other occasions. 

This day I dived down at the top pair, one 
of which was flying directly behind the other. I 
did not touch my trigger until I was fifty yards 
from him ; then opened a stiff fire. This machine, 
as on the previous time I had used a similar 
trick, knew nothing of what was coming to him 
at all. He also probably never knew what hit 
him, because, slipping to one side, his machine 
went into a spin and fell completely out of con- 
trol. I did not wait to attack the other man, as 
I was underneath him, and by the time he had 
turned to see what was happening, I was a quar- 
ter of a mile away, and going for home as fast 
as possible. It was the first machine to my 
credit since my return from England, and I was 
greatly pleased. 

By this time I had become very ambitious, 
and was hoping to get a large number of ma- 
chines officially credited to me before I left 
France. With this object in view, I planned 
many little expeditions of my own, and, with 
the use of great patience, I was very successful 
in one or two. 

The next day I was out with my patrol again 
in the morning, and met six enemy scouts. There 



WINGED WARFARE 177 

were six of us, as well, but, in the earlier part 
of the " scrap" which immediately followed, my 
gun, which seemed to be causing me a lot of 
trouble, again jammed, and I signalled to the 
others that I had to leave the fight. I dived 
away, and landed on an aerodrome nearby to 
correct the jam. 

Three quarters of an hour later I was again 
in the air, but could not find the patrol, so I 
flew up over Vimy Ridge. There was one of my 
old friends, a big, fat two-seater, and I went 
after him with joy in my soul. Three times I 
managed to get in a burst of fire diving once 
from straight above, and once from either side, 
but I did not seem to be able to hit him at all. 

Glancing suddenly over my shoulder, I saw 
two enemy scouts coming to the rescue from 
above. They had been sitting away up in the 
blue sky, in order to protect this machine, and, 
luckily for me, had not seen me sooner. I 
cleared off, and carefully thought how I was to 
get my revenge. Nothing in the world but that 
fat-two seater attracted my attention. I was 
annoyed at having missed him, after such good 
chances, and was determined I was at least go- 
ing to have another good go at him before giving 
up. The only trouble was the two enemy scouts 
above, and I did not know how to get rid of 



178 WINGED WARFARE 

them. They had seen me, and probably had 
their eye on me at the moment. 

I flew away, and came back in five minutes. 
Luck was with me ; another one of our machines 
had flown slightly above the two enemy scouts, 
who had turned and fled from him. He had 
chased them, and they had made a detour, evad- 
ing him. All this I took in at a glance, and saw 
that they were trying to get back to protect their 
two-seater comrade, and had no desire to fight, 
themselves. Seeing my opportunity, as the two- 
seater did not seem to know that the scouts had 
temporarily deserted him, I dived at him again, 
and this time closed up to within fifty yards be- 
fore opening fire. Then, taking an accurate aim, 
I pulled the trigger. I can remember to this 
day how carefully I aimed that time. I was 
dead behind him, and I picked out the finest 
point in the pilot's body where I wanted my bul- 
lets to hit. The observer in the two-seater ceased 
firing at me a moment before I opened, and be- 
gan to work frantically at his gun. It had the 
jamming habit, too. A few rounds were enough. 
The machine put its nose down, dived vertically 
a short distance, then went into an uncontrolled 
spinning dive, and I watched it as it fell racing 
down towards the ground, with the engine full 
on. As is always the case, it seemed to take an 
age before it reached the ground. Finally it 



WINGED WARFARE 179 

crashed into the centre of a village, striking be- 
tween two houses. 

Ten minutes later I had climbed up and was 
above the two scouts, so decided to give them 
at least a scare. I opened fire at long range, 
and, for a moment, thought I had hit one of 
them. He went into a spin, but two thousand 
feet below flattened out and flew away. The 
other one climbed, and I could not catch him, 
so turned and flew north. 

Another two-seater, who had been flying along 
the lines, was now three thousand feet above me. 
I opened fire at him from underneath, at very 
long range, but, of course, could not hit, the 
range being too long. 

Many exciting fights occurred with the ma- 
chines doing artillery observation. They were 
a very difficult proposition. They knew for 
a certainty they would be attacked, and would 
fly in threes and fours, or more, going about 
on their beat all together, and helping their 
own lines, and at a height of three thou- 
sand feet. It made it very difficult for us 
to attack, as, the height being low, we would 
have to make a dash across the lines at them, 
and then back again. Over and over again 
one would carefully figure out where they would 
be nearest the lines, then, at that moment, dash 
across at full speed. The enemy, immediately 



180 WINGED WARFARE 

upon seeing the anti-aircraft shells burst around 
you, would turn east and fly towards home, 
going as fast as they could, and at the same 
time losing height. It meant that to really de- 
stroy or damage them, one had to fly ten or 
twelve miles in to catch them; then they would 
only be at a height of some five hundred or a 
thousand feet. This was our task. The anti- 
aircraft fire was terrific; going in not as bad as 
coming back, but the moment we turned to come 
home all the guns in the neighbourhood would 
open at us, and, if we were low enough, we 
would also be subjected to the most intense 
machine gun fire from the ground. 

This did not occur once a week; it was a 
thing that happened to each one of us three and 
four times, or even more, in the course of a morn- 
ing's work, and was the most trying job we 
had to do. Most of the fights followed the same 
lines, three or four of us crossing at full speed, 
zigzagging slightly in our course to upset the 
aim of the "Archies," and then following closely 
the enemy machines, which were all the time di- 
recting a steady machine gun fire at us. Our 
object was more to frighten them away than 
really to bring them down. Then would come a 
quick turn, and a dash back home. This would 
be very hard to do. One would turn suddenly 
to the right or left, trying to evade the burst- 



WINGED WARFARE 181 

ing shells, but they were cracking on all sides. 
It would seem that one could not possibly get 
through them, and the thought that one little 
bit of shell in the engine would put the whole 
machine out of business, was enough to give 
anybody nerves. As it was, we were nearly al- 
ways hit by small fragments, but this was con- 
sidered nothing, and, of course, no reason for 
not liking the job. My previous experience in 
escorting the photography machines had taught 
me that other people have to stand anti-aircraft 
fire, as well as ourselves, and for them, being 
larger and slower, it is a thousand times worse. 



CHAPTER XV 

MY record of machines brought down was 
now in the vicinity of twenty, and I saw 
I had a rare chance of really getting a lot be- 
fore going on my next leave — at the end of my 
second three months at the front. 

With this object in view, I planned an ex- 
pedition into the enemy country, to attack an 
enemy aerodrome. I had carefully thought it 
out, and came to the conclusion that if one could 
get to an aerodrome when there were some ma- 
chines on the ground, and none in the air, it 
would be an easy matter to shoot them down 
the moment they would attempt to come up. It 
would be necessary for them to take off straight 
into the wind, if there was a strong wind at all, 
so I could not be surprised that way, and would 
be able to hit them if I came low enough, before 
they would get a chance to manoeuvre or turn 
out of my way. 

I planned this expedition after much thought, 
and set it for the second of June, as that was to 
be my day off. Dawn was the hour I considered 
advisable, as there would be very few machines 

183 



184 WINGED WARFARE 

in the air, and I would have a great chance of 
evading trouble on the way to the aerodrome. 
I spent my spare moments, the next few days, 
arranging the details. 

In the meantime, I had several more fights. 
On the 31st of May I went out in the morning 
about eight o'clock, and the sky seemed deserted. 
However, I crossed over into enemy territory, 
and in a few minutes sighted two machines. 
They were flying south. I followed, and sud- 
denly they began to spiral down. Apparently 
they had just finished their time in the air, and 
were coming down to land. So I flew as quickly 
as I could, and reached the nearest one, whom 
I attacked, firing a burst from fifty yards' range. 
I missed him completely, I think. He turned 
and we had quite a fight, lasting four or five 
minutes. Luckily, his companion had not seen 
us, and had kept on going down. My opponent 
seemed a very good man, and every time, just 
as I thought I was going to get in a burst of 
fire, he would make some clever manoeuvre and 
evade me altogether, with the result that I was 
having a very hard time myself, and had to 
keep my eyes open so that he would not get a 
good shot at me. For a moment or two I was 
a bit worried, but suddenly I managed to get 
slightly behind him, and at a favourable angle, 
only fifteen yards away. I pulled the trigger, 



WINGED WARFARE 185 

and his machine fell out of control. Much 
pleased, I waited over the spot to see him crash 
— which he did. 

The next morning, remembering my bad 
shooting in the beginning of this fight, I spent 
some extra time on the target at the aerodrome. 
During that day I went out no less than four 
times, looking for a fight, but in only one case 
did I even get near enough to open fire at an 
enemy machine; that time only getting within 
one hundred and fifty yards of it. Two of us 
went after him, but, as usual, he decided that 
it was not healthy, and putting his engine full 
on, dived away as quickly as he could go, to the 
tune of our machine-guns behind him. How- 
ever, it had no result except to frighten him. 
He did not return. The remainder of that day 
all the German machines seemed very nervous, 
and we could not get within range of any of 
them. 

Now came the day planned for my expedi- 
tion. I wrote my name on the blackboard, the 
night before, to be called at three o'clock, and 
sat down, for the last time, to consider exactly 
if the job was worth the risk. However, as 
nothing like it had been done before, I knew 
that I would strike the Huns by surprise, and, 
considering that, I decided the risk was not 
nearly so great as it seemed, and that I might 



186 WINGED WARFARE 

be able to get four or five more machines to my 
credit, in one great swoop. 

At three o'clock I was called and got up. It 
was pitch black. I dressed, and went in to tell 
two of my friends that I was off. They were 
not entirely in favour of the expedition, and said 
so again. Notwithstanding this I went on to 
the aerodrome, and got away just as the first 
streaks of dawn were showing in the upper sky. 

I flew straight across the lines, toward the 
aerodrome I had planned to attack, and coming 
down low, decided to carry out my plan, and stir 
them up with a burst of machine gun fire into 
their hangar sheds. But, on reaching the place, 
I saw there was nothing on the ground. Every 
one must have been either dead asleep, or else 
the station was absolutely deserted. Greatly 
disappointed, I decided I would try the same 
stunt some other day on another aerodrome, 
which I would have to select. 

In the meantime, for something to do, I flew 
along low over the country, in the hope of com- 
ing on some camp or group of troops so as to 
scatter them. I felt that the danger was nil, 
as most of the crews of the guns which ordin- 
arily would fire at me, would still be asleep, and 
I might as well give any Huns I could find, a 
good fight. I was in rather a bad temper at hav- 
ing my carefully laid plan fall through so 



WINGED WARFARE 187 

quickly, and nothing would have pleased me 
better than to have run across a group of fat 
Huns drilling in a field — or something of that 
sort. However, nothing appeared, and I was 
just thinking of turning and going home, or of 
climbing up to see if there were some Huns in 
the upper sky, when ahead, and slightly to one 
side of me, I saw the sheds of another aerodrome. 
I at once decided that here was my chance, al- 
though it was not a very favourable one, as the 
aerodrome was pretty far back from the lines. 
To make good my escape from this place would 
not be as easy as I had hoped. Furthermore, 
I was not even certain where I was, and that 
was my greatest worry, as I was a bit afraid 
that if I had any bad fights I might have trouble 
in finding my way back. Scurrying along close 
to the ground, zagzagging here and there, one's 
sense of direction becomes slightly vague. 

Another half minute and I was over the aero- 
drome, about three hundred feet up. On the 
ground were seven German machines, and in my 
first glance, I saw that some of them actually 
had their engines running. Mechanics were 
standing about in groups. Then I saw a thing 
which surprised me very much — six of the ma- 
chines were single-seaters, and one a two-seater. 
I was not very anxious for the two-seater to 
come up to attack me, as in taking off, he would 



188 WINGED WARFARE 

have a certain amount of protection from behind, 
with his observer, while the single-seater could 
have none. However, in this, luck also favoured 
me, as the two-seater did not move at all. 

I pointed my nose towards the ground, and 
opened fire with my gun, scattering the bullets 
all around the machines, and coming down to 
fifty feet in doing so. I do not know how many 
men I hit, or what damage was done, except 
that one man, at least, fell, and several others 
ran to pick him up. Then, clearing off to one 
side, I watched the fun. I had forgotten by 
this time, that they would, of course, have ma- 
chine-guns on the aerodrome, and as I was laugh- 
ing to myself, as they tore around in every di- 
rection on the ground, like people going mad, 
or rabbits scurrying about, I heard the old fa- 
miliar rattle of the quick firers on me. I did 
not dare go too far away, however, as then I 
would not be able to catch the machines as they 
left the ground, so turning quickly and twisting 
about, I did my best to evade the fire from the 
ground. Looking at my planes, I saw that the 
guns were doing pretty good shooting. There 
were several holes in them already and this made 
me turn and twist all the more. Then one ma- 
chine suddenly began to "taxi" off down the 
aerodrome. It increased its speed quickly, and 
I immediately tore down after it. I managed 



WINGED WARFARE 189 

to get close on its tail, when it was just above 
the ground, and opened fire from dead behind 
it. There was no chance of missing, and I was 
as cool as could be. Just fifteen rounds, and it 
side-slipped to one side, then crashed on the 
aerodrome underneath. I was now keyed up to 
the fight, and turning quickly, saw another ma- 
chine just off the ground. Taking careful aim 
at it, I fired from longer range than before, as 
I did not want to waste the time of going up 
close. For one awful moment I saw my bullets 
missing, and aimed still more carefully, all the 
time striving to get nearer. The Hun saw I was 
catching him up, and pushed his nose down; 
then, gazing over his shoulder at the moment 
I was firing at him, he crashed into some trees 
near the aerodrome. I think I hit him just be- 
fore he came to the trees, as my tracers were 
then going in an accurate line. 

I again turned towards the aerodrome. This 
time my heart sank, because two machines were 
taking off at the same time, and in slightly differ- 
ent directions. It was the one thing I had 
dreaded. There was not much wind, and it was 
possible for them to do this. I had made up 
my mind, before, that if they attempted to do 
this I would immediately make good my escape, 
but I had counted on being higher. However, 
true to my intention, I began to climb. One of 



190 WINGED WARFARE 

the enemy machines luckily climbed away at 
some distance, while the other made up straight 
after me. At one thousand feet, and only a few 
hundred yards from the aerodrome, I saw that 
he was catching me, so turned on him and opened 
fire. We made about two circuits around each 
other, neither getting a very good shot, but in 
the end I managed to get in a short burst of 
fire, and this machine went crashing to the 
ground, where it lay in a field, a few hundred 
yards from the aerodrome. 

The fourth machine then came up, and I 
opened fire on him. I was now greatly wor- 
ried as to how I was to get away, as I was using 
up all my ammunition, and there seemed to be 
no end to the number of machines coming up. I 
was afraid that other machines from other aero- 
dromes would also come in answer to telephone 
calls, and wanted to get away as quickly as I 
could. But there was no chance of running from 
this man — he had me cold — so I turned at him 
savagely, and, in the course of a short fight, 
emptied the whole of my last drum at him. Luck- 
ily, at the moment I finished my ammunition, he 
also seemed to have had enough of it, as he 
turned and flew away. I seized my opportunity, 
climbed again, and started for home. 

To my dismay I discovered four enemy scouts 
above me. I was terrified that they would see 



WINGED WARFARE 191 

me, so flew directly underneath them, for some 
time — almost a mile, I should think — going di- 
rectly south. Then, deciding that I must do 
something, I took the bit in my teeth, and slipped 
away. They did not attempt to attack me at all, 
so I am not sure whether they even saw me or 
not. 

I now headed in the approximate direction 
of our lines, and flew in rather a dazed state 
toward them. I had not had any breakfast, 
and was feeling very queer at my stomach. The 
excitement, and the reaction afterwards, had 
been a bit too much, as well as the cold morning 
air. It seemed, once or twice, that my head was 
going around and around, and that something 
must happen. For the only time in my life, it 
entered my thoughts that I might lose my senses 
in a moment, and go insane. It was a horrible 
feeling, and I also had the terrible sensation 
that I would suffer from nausea any minute. 
I was not at all sure where I was, and further- 
more did not care. The thrills and#exultation I 
had at first felt, had all died away, and nothing 
seemed to matter but this awful feeling of diz- 
ziness and the desire to get home and on the 
ground. 

By the time I reached the aerodrome, however, 
I felt much better, and flew over our still sleep- 
ing huts, firing off my signal lights frantically, 



192 WINGED WARFARE 

to show them I had certainly had some success. 
I landed, and my sergeant immediately rushed 
out and asked me how many I had bagged. 
When I told him three, he was greatly pleased, 
and yelled it back to the mechanics who were 
waiting by the shed. Then, as I crawled out of 
my machine, I heard the remarks of the me- 
chanics around me. They were looking it over. 
Everywhere it was shot about, bullet holes be- 
ing in almost every part of it, although none, 
luckily, within two feet of where I sat. Parts 
of the machine were so badly damaged as to take 
a lot of repairing; but I used the same patched 
planes in the machine for some time afterward, 
and always felt great affection for it, for pull- 
ing me through such a successful enterprise. I 
personally congratulated the man who had 
charge of my gun, suddenly realising that if it 
had jammed at a critical moment, what a tight 
corner I would have been in. 

Within three or four hours, I had received 
many congratulations upon this stunt, and what 
I had planned as merely a way of shooting down 
some more of the Huns, I found the authorities 
considered a very successful expedition. It 
pleased me very much — and, of course, I have 
always kept the telegrams of congratulations 
which I received that day. At first I had been 
disappointed in the net result, for v/hen I started 




AN UNREHEARSED LANDING 



WINGED WARFARE 193 

out I had rather hoped they would all take off 
as the first machine did, and that I would be able 
to bag, at the very least, four. But, on looking 
back at it, I think I was over-optimistic, and was 
very lucky to have brought down as many as I 
did. 

That afternoon I was still suffering from the 
excitement of the morning, and although tired 
out, could not sleep, so with one other man I 
climbed in my machine and flew about fifty miles 
south, to pay a visit to another of our aerodromes 
there. We left to return about five o'clock and 
had more excitement, as a rain-storm was com- 
ing up, and for the last ten minutes had to plow 
through a drizzle. It was pretty dreary work, 
and I was very glad to see the aerodrome again. 
An hour later, I was sound asleep in my bed, 
and did not awaken until the next morning. 

Next morning we had a most discouraging 
time. For several days there had not been many 
German machines on the lines, and we had been 
very successful in stopping them from doing their 
artillery work. But on this morning, when, with 
our usual confidence of finding only one or two, 
we slipped across the lines after them, we sud- 
denly made out everywhere, groups of four or 
five,; and, counting them up, I found there were 
no less than twenty-three German machines with- 
in three miles of the front. There were only 



194 WINGED WARFARE 

three of us, so it was rather puzzling what to do. 
In some way, we had to stop the machines from 
doing artillery work, and it was not a very pleas- 
ant prospect for three to pile into the middle of 
over twenty, with the likelihood of still more com- 
ing from other directions. However, we stayed 
just on the German side of the line, and they did 
not seem very anxious to attack us. So, when- 
ever two or three would get separated from the 
others, we would pretend to go near them, and 
they would shy away towards the rest of their 
machines. It was terribly annoying to have to 
sit there and see so many fat Huns go unmolest- 
ed and after we landed we agreed that if it ever 
happened again, one of us would go back, get 
more machines to help, and then we would en- 
gage the lot in a real battle royal. So many 
times we could not find any of them, when we 
were just dying for a fight; now they were in 
such huge numbers it would be folly to mix it up 
with them. 

We managed to have three short goes at dif- 
ferent artillery machines in the course of half 
an hour, next day, but they were not "having 
any," however, and turned away and fled to- 
wards home. 

Another time, while flying on the lines, my en- 
gine suddenly stopped dead. Nothing I could 
do had any effect on it, and I glided back toward 



WINGED WARFARE 195 

home. At first I was a bit afraid I would not 
even clear the shell area, and it meant crashing 
into some deep hole, but there was a slight wind 
behind me, and with the help of this I glided 
on and on, into clear country, where there was an 
aerodrome. 

In one week I had no less than three engine 
failures although I have hardly ever had one at 
any other time. But, as luck would have it, I 
was always able to glide down and just reach 
the same aerodrome. I got to know it quite well 
by the end of the week. 

On the eighth of June fortune favoured me. I 
had had two indecisive combats, when to my 
great joy I saw, in the distance, another layer 
formation of six Huns in groups of two. So I 
manoeuvred again, to attack the top pair. After 
creeping up slowly and carefully behind one of 
them, I opened fire, and he went straight away 
into a spinning nose dive, which he could not 
come out of, and crashed into the ground. The 
other machine of the top layer saw me, but had 
no desire to fight, and dived away immediately 
toward the rest of his formation. I pointed my 
nose down at him, and fired, but he was too far 
away and escaped. 

This was again my day off, so I had deserted 
my own part of the lines and flown away up 
north where the battle of Mes sines was raging, 



196 WINGED WARFARE 

and I had heard there were more German ma- 
chines up in that direction. It was a good tip, 
and I was glad I had come. 

A little later I saw the same, or another forma- 
tion of four, flying about in a group. I did not 
feel like going down and getting into the middle 
of them, so I stayed above and tried the old 
game of diving and coming up again, just to 
worry them. It evidently did, as they only stood 
for it twice, and then, losing height, made away 
as fast as they could go. 

Over a week passed now before I had another 
fight at all. Many times I sighted enemy air- 
craft, but they were always in the distance, and 
after a hot chase I would have to give it up. 
Then would come the disagreeable return jour- 
ney against the anti-aircraft fire. By this time 
I was getting to hate the German guns, as they 
often caught me at low altitude, and made the 
way home so nasty. One night when a shell burst 
near me, I happened to see the flash of the gun 
that was firing, and as it was almost directly 
beneath me, I threw my machine out of control, 
with a sudden inspiration, and let it fall for sev- 
eral thousand feet. Then, about two thousand 
feet from the ground, I opened fire at the battery 
on the ground. I was too high to see just what 
effect my fire had, but it evidently silenced them, 
and from later results certainly annoyed them 



WINGED WARFARE 197 

very much, because every time I crossed the line 
on "Blue Nose," this gun would open fire fierce- 
ly, concentrating on me, no matter how many 
other machines were in the air. 

About five miles south of this position, on an- 
other day, I was flying at a height of two thou- 
sand feet, and saw another "Archie" firing, so I 
dived down to about five hundred feet from 
the ground, and scattered some flaming bullets 
around him. This battery also gave "Blue Nose" 
special attention from that day on. 

It became a favourite habit of ours, about this 
time, when there were no enemy machines up 
above, to come down low and attack the enemy 
trenches, from a height of from one hundred to 
five hundred feet. We would come down be- 
hind them, and, diving at them that way, open 
fire. It evidently frightened the Huns very 
much, from reports which we later heard. 

In the June evenings the sky was a beautiful 
sight, at sunset. If there was any wind blow- 
ing at all, the mist would be cleared away, and 
one could see almost to the end of the world. 
The ground was a riot of beautiful colours, and 
the dusty roads stretched away like long white 
ribbons. 



CHAPTER XVI 

ALL of June was marked by the most perfect 
weather. The prevailing strong west winds 
stopped and a light breeze blew constantly from 
the east. Some days there was hardly a stir in 
the air. From dawn until sun-down there was 
rarely a cloud in the sky, and although the heat 
waves from the effect of the sun on the earth 
made flying very rough, when near the ground, 
the days were wonderful, and we all felt like 
kings. 

The mornings were very busy, as there were 
many calls to chase away hostile aircraft, but the 
afternoons we generally had to ourselves, and al- 
though it was necessary to stay right on the aero- 
drome, we found many amusements there. 

The mess was situated on the very edge of the 
aerodrome and about twenty yards from a farm 
house, which possessed the most extraordinary 
farm yard I have ever seen. There were pigeons 
by the hundreds and all kinds of fowl possible 
to imagine. A small pond in the middle of the 
farm yard afforded exercise and amusement for 
a flock of ducks. The raising of pigs, however, 

199 



200 WINGED WARFARE 

seemed to be the farmer's great specialty, and to 
these pigs I owe many amusing hours. 

One afternoon, while looking through the farm 
yard, three of us decided to capture a large hog 
and trail it back to our quarters to shoo into the 
room of a friend, who was at the moment sleep- 
ing. It was very easy to get the idea, but for 
inexperienced people it was a difficult job to get 
the porker. 

After much mature deliberation we decided 
upon our victim — the largest and dirtiest one in 
the farm yard. It was lying half buried in the 
mud near the pond, so with a few small pebbles 
we woke it up, and frightened it on to dry land. 
Then began the chase. Two or three times we 
managed to corner it, but with a series of grunts 
and squeals it would charge one of us and make 
a clean get-away. Finally, seeing no other course 
open, we drove it into a small pig-pen which had 
only one outlet, an opening with a door covering 
it up to about three feet high. Opening the door, 
we shooed the pig in. It seemed to have no objec- 
tion, and after it went one of my comrades with 
a rope. I carefully closed the door and bolted 
it from the outside, so that the pig could not force 
it open. Then, peering over the top, I witnessed 
a remarkable scene. The hog was now desperate 
and tearing around in a circle squealing for all 
it was worth. My companion with the rope was 



WINGED WARFARE 20f 

trying to fix a noose on one of the hind legs. In 
doing so the pig kicked him and turning, nearly 
knocked him over, as it rushed past. The next 
phase were cries of "Open the door and let rile 
out." The airman was as badly frightened as 
the hog. Suddenly, with an extra squeal, our 
supposed victim made a leap up the door and 
firmly fastening fore legs on to the top of it, 
worked up like a fat gymnast and fell over on 
the outside. By this time we were all laughing 
so hard we could not interfere and the pig got 
away. 

Refusing to be beaten, we employed the serv- 
ices of a small French boy to help us, and he 
sneaked up behind another huge pig, and fas- 
tened the rope to a hind leg. I then took hold 
of it to drive it home, but the poor beast upon 
learning that he was tied up had no intention of 
giving in, and immediately started away at a 
furious gallop, dragging me after it. Once 
around the farm yard we went, and half again, 
before I tripped on a stone and fell flat, and this 
pig also escaped. You see I was having no luck 
with Huns. 

Again the French boy came to our rescue and 
secured Mr. Pig, showing us how to drive it prop- 
erly. This we did, and managed in the course of 
the next three-quarters of an hour to get the pig 
as far as the officers' quarters. To drive him in 



^02 WINGED WARFARE 

was a difficult matter, but with numerous assis- 
tants, and much noise and shouting he finally en- 
tered, but, of course, the sleeping man had been 
awake long since. However, we got the pig into 
his room, where he was standing in his pajamas, 
and to see a brave man frightened is a rare sight, 
but the rest of us had the chance then. 

We took the pig into the mess to show him 
about, putting him in a little cage made of the 
fire fender. He seemed quite satisfied here for 
a moment, then, deciding that he would like to 
get away, stuck his nose under the edge of the fire 
fender, heaved it over his back and with a dis- 
gusted grunt walked out. Feeling that he had 
earned his freedom, we let him go. 

Every afternoon after that we found much fun 
out of the different animals in the farm yard. 
The French people were as pleased as we were 
until some of their ducks stopped laying, when, 
of course, we made good the value of the eggs 
that came not, and a great many more that would 
never have come. 

One afternoon we secured three ducks and a lot 
of paint. One duck we painted with circles 
around it of red, white and blue, just like the 
Allied markings on our machines. Of the other 
two we painted one red and one bright blue. They 
did not seem to appreciate it, but they were dis- 
tinguished looking ducks until about two months 



WINGED WARFARE 203 

later, when they began to moult. Then one 
would see wandering through the grass a weird 
sight looking like a moth-eaten bird, a dirty scar- 
let in some places and a dirty white in others. It 
would be a horrible sight close to, but from a dis- 
tance quite pretty, resembling some bird of 
paradise. 

These ducks we tried hard to train, trying to 
teach them to walk on the ground in formations 
the same as we flew in the air. They were not 
very adept pupils, however, and instead of walk- 
ing at correct distances apart, would keep look- 
ing behind at us, and jostling into the men on the 
right and left. 

One afternoon we got as many as sixteen ducks, 
and after giving them a good luncheon, by way 
of celebration for their outing, we put them on 
the roof of the mess, where they all sat in a stately 
row, quacking in spasms. 

These incidents, though simple to tell now, at 
that time afforded us the greatest amusement, 
and as we were in no way cruel to the animals, 
the French people who owned them did not seem 
to mind. 

However, perhaps one day we carried it a little 
far, as we tried to find the effect of alcohol upon 
the ducks. This was most amusing with two or 
three, because, although they did not like the 
first drop of it, when they had been forced to swal- 



204 WINGED WARFARE 

low that, they eagerly cried for more. Their re- 
turn home was a ludicrous sight, sitting down on 
the ground every minute or two, and always 
walking in a "beaucoup" zig-zag course, as the 
French would say. Once we got hold of the head 
drake of the flock, and, imagining him to be able 
to stand a little more than the rest, gave him a bit 
too much, with the result that he unfortunately 
died. It took quite a bit of broken French and 
more expressive French notes to reconcile the 
owner to his loss, but after a long and painful 
conversation of nearly half an hour he was in a 
better humour and, incidentally, a richer man. 
With that our attention to the ducks ceased, al- 
though by this time three quarters of the flock 
had been painted various hues. 

We now returned to the pigs, and found much 
fun with the smaller ones. These also were 
painted, always referring to their different parts 
in aeronautical terms, such as calling their legs 
their "under-carriage" and their body their "fuse- 
lage." 

One little pig we had was a most successful 
picture. His legs and the under part of his body 
were all painted scarlet, his nose and tail as well. 
On his back were huge red, white and blue circles. 
The rest of his body was touched with red, white 
and blue, his ears being blue. It was very good 
paint, and the result was a beautifully-shining, 



WINGED WARFARE 205 

coloured pig. When he returned that night to 
the others they stood off and gazed at him in 
amazement, and for days would not associate 
with him. It was indeed a red-letter day in his 
existence, as he was certainly the pig amongst 
all pigs. 

Using the French boy on another occasion, we 
again secured a large sow. Upon her we painted 
black crosses; a huge black cross on her nose, a 
little one on each ear and a large one on each 
side. Then on her back we painted Baron von 
Richtofen. So that the other pigs would recog- 
nise that she was indeed a leader, we tied a lead- 
er's streamer on her tail. This trailed for some 
three feet behind her as she walked, and is ex- 
actly the same sort of thing that the leader of a 
patrol of aeroplanes uses so he can be identified. 

When the "Baron" returned to the farm yard 
everything else there immediately concentrated 
its attention upon the weird sight. Chickens, 
ducks, pigs and geese all followed the big sow 
as she walked around. It was certainly a success- 
ful circus for our friend von Richtofen, and 
every time she moved around that farm yard she 
had a good following of multi-coloured admirers. 

Upon the express condition that we would not 
paint them, the farmer let us have his rabbits in 
the afternoon. He must have had over two hun- 
dred, and we would go in with a blanket and get 



206 WINGED WARFARE 

about twenty-five small ones, then take them out 
and drop them in the green grass, where w r e would 
sit around under a tree, and play with them or 
watch them eat. They were amusing little things 
and passed aw T ay many hours for us. 

However, dogs were our special favourites, as 
far as pets were concerned, and every stray dog 
we could find we would pick up and bring it 
home. Finally we had a huge collection of them, 
with a variety of names ranging from "Kate," 
"Rachel" or "Horace" to "Black Dog" and 
"Nigger." 

They were all good dogs, and I remember well 
when little Kate, whom we had raised from a 
puppy, was lost. We all felt very badly for days. 
She was reported in the squadron books as 
"missing," as she had gone out, and had not re- 
turned. Poor Kate, her life had indeed been 
hard. As a puppy, her first accident was when 
she had "crashed" off the top of a piano, and 
had broken one of her fore legs. This w T as no 
sooner mended than somebody walked on her, 
when she was sitting in front of the fire, and 
broke another. A month later an automobile ran 
over her on the road, and broke a third and badly 
injured her body, so that she was a little cripple, 
and hopped along on three legs, although how 
she ever used them nobody knows. Her body 
was all twisted and she had no good points ex- 



WINGED WARFARE 207 

cept a very charming manner, which made us 
very fond of her. 

"Nigger" was one of my own dogs. One night, 
returning after having dined with some other 
unit, I found "Nigger" outside my hut. He was 
a big dog looking very much like an Airedale, 
only black. It was pouring rain and very cold, 
so I took him in and let him sleep on my bed 
with me. He had a most affectionate way about 
him, and although quite the smelliest dog I have 
ever known, it was a pleasure to have him about. 

The other dogs each had their good points. 
Rachel, who was a little deformed fox-terrier, we 
had picked up on the road simply because she 
was the ugliest looking thing we had ever seen, 
turned out to be a wonderful ratter, frequently 
taking on rats twice as long as she was, and, al- 
though getting badly bitten herself, she would 
invariably come out of the scrap victorious. No- 
body would claim Rachel, but she got fed some- 
how, and also got quite a lot of attention, so she 
stayed with us. 

By way of sports, we played tennis a great 
deal, and did considerable riding, two good horses 
having been lent to the squadron for that pur- 
pose. Then, too, as the place seemed to be in- 
fested with rats, we managed to get together 
some good ratting parties, and with the help of 
some of the dogs, had many successful hunts. 



208 WINGED WARFARE 

Carefully blocking all the holes in the ground, 
with the exception of one or two, we would send 
smoke down one of these, and with a little pre- 
liminary squeal thre2 or four rats would rush out 
of the other. One afternoon, inside of half an 
hour, we caught eighteen rats. 

Another sport, and a very good one, was to 
take a 22-calibre rifle and try to shoot individual 
pigeons on the wing. It was a very hard thing 
to do and required much practice. Luckily we 
did not hit too often, as we paid well for each 
pigeon we shot down. I remember one afternoon 
firing five hundred rounds and only hitting one 
pigeon, and I considered myself lucky to hit that 
one. This sport was much encouraged, as it was 
the very best practice in the world, for the eye of 
a man whose business it is to fight mechanical 
birds in the air. 

Every now and again we would be given a day 
off. This day would be spent, usually, in either 
sleeping all day or roaming about the orchard in 
silk pajamas, or else one would go and visit some 
friends, who possibly were stationed near. It 
was a great thing, as it always left us keen for 
work the next day. 



CHAPTER XVII 

BY this time I had learned nearly all of the 
fundamental principles of fighting in the 
air and had more or less decided upon exactly 
what tactics were best for me to use. I also re- 
alised the exact limit of my ability in carrying 
these various tactics out, and in fighting acted ac- 
cordingly. I was more than ever firmly resolved 
now that having got so far in the game, and past 
its most dangerous stages, I would take no fool- 
ish risks, but continue to wait for the best oppor- 
tunities. It was very hard to restrain one's self 
at times but from the middle of May until I left 
France in August, I lost only one man out of my 
patrol killed, and he was shot down on an expe- 
dition when I was not with him. 

When flying alone, on a day off or something 
like that, I took queer chances, it is true, but fly- 
ing with the patrol often let opportunities slip 
by because they were not quite good enough but 
when the right ones came, we were quick to seize 
them and were nearly always successful. 

I had learned that the most important thing in 
fighting was the shooting, next the various tac- 

209 



210 WINGED WARFARE 

tics in coming into the fight, and last of all fly- 
ing ability itself. The shooting, as I have said 
before, I practised constantly and became more 
and more expert at it, with the result that finally 
I had great confidence in myself, and knew for 
a certainty that if I only could get in a shot from 
one of two of my favourite positions, I would be 
successful in downing my opponent. 

To those who have never seen a war machine 
I would explain that to control one, the pilot has 
to manipulate but a single lever which we call 
the "joy stick." It is very much like the lever 
with which you shift gears on an automobile but 
it moves in four directions. If you would want 
your machine to go down, the instinctive move 
would be to lean the body forward. Therefore, 
the fighting aeroplane is so rigged that when the 
pilot pushes the "joy stick" forward, the nose of 
the machine points down. In the same way, if 
he pulls the "joy stick" back, the nose goes up 
and the machine climbs at any angle he wants it 
to. In turning, it is necessarj' to bank the ma- 
chine otherwise it will skid outwards. It is also 
just as necessary that the machine is not banked 
too much. This is one of the first things a pupil 
is taught when learning to fly. 

The "joy stick" also controls the banking. By 
moving it to either side you can tilt up which- 
ever wing is desired. At his feet the pilot has a 



WINGED WARFARE 211 

rudder bar which controls the horizontal direc- 
tion of the machine. If he pushes his left foot 
forward and banks slightly, the machine turns 
slowly to the left. To go to the right, there is 
only necessary a push with the right foot and a 
slight bank. The pilot thus has both feet on the 
rudder bar; holds the "joy stick" with his right 
hand, and with his left controls the engine of the 
machine by holding the throttle in his hand. He 
is always able to do anything he wishes either 
with the engine or the machine itself. When fir- 
ing the gun he simply moves his thumb slightly 
along the "joy stick" and presses the lever which 
pulls the trigger. 

To be able to fight well a pilot must be able to 
have absolute control over his machine. He must 
know by the "feel" of it exactly how the machine 
is, what position it is in, and how it is flying, so 
that he may manoeuvre rapidly, and at the same 
time watch his opponent or opponents. He must 
be able to loop, turn his machine over on its back 
and do various other flying "stunts," not that 
these are actually necessary during a combat, but 
from the fact that he has done these things sev- 
eral times he gets absolute confidence and when 
the fight comes along he is not worrying about 
how the machine will act. He can devote all his 
time to fighting the other fellow; the flying part 
of it coming instinctively. Thus the flying part, 



212 WINGED WARFARE 

although perhaps the hardest to train a man for, 
is the least important factor in aerial fighting. A 
man's flying ability may be perfect. He may be 
able to control the machine and handle it like no 
one else on earth, but if he goes into a fight and 
risks his life many times to get into the right po- 
sition for a good shot and then upon arriving 
there can not hit the mark, he is useless. Unable 
to shoot his opponent down he must risk his life 
still more in order to get out and away from the 
enemy, and that is why I put aerial gunnery 
down as the most important factor in fighting in 
the air. 

Tactics are next important because, by the 
proper use of the best tactics, it is so easy to help 
eliminate risks and also so easy to put the enemy 
at a great disadvantage. Surprise is always to 
be aimed for. Naturally if one can surprise the 
enemy and get into a proper position to shoot 
before he is aware of your presence, it simplifies 
matters tremendously, and there should be no 
second part to the fight. But it is a very hard 
thing to do as every fighting man in the air is 
constantly on the lookout for enemy machines. 
To surprise him requires a tremendous amount of 
patience and many failures before one is ever 
successful. A point to know is the fact that it is 
easier to surprise a formation of four or six than 
it is to surprise one or two. This is probably be- 







WINGED WARFARE 213 

cause the greater number feel more confident in 
their ability to protect themselves, and also are 
probably counting upon each other to do a cer- 
tain amount of the looking out. 

When flying alone or with just one other, it is 
always a case of constantly turning around in 
your seat, turning your machine to right or left, 
looking above and around or below you all the 
time. It is a very tiring piece of work so it is 
but natural that when you have three or four 
other men behind you, you spend more time look- 
ing in the direction where you hope the enemy 
machines are, if you want to attack them, and to 
looking at any interesting sights which are on 
the ground. 

In ordinary fight or duel, we had tactics, of 
course, to suit the occasion. The great thing was 
to never let the enemy's machine get behind you, 
or "on your tail." Once he reaches there it is 
very hard to get him off, as every turn and every 
move you make, he makes with you. By the same 
token it is exactly the position into which you 
wish to get, and once there you must constantly 
strive for a shot as well as look out for attacks 
from other machines that may be near. It is well 
if you are against odds never to stay long after 
one machine. If you concentrate on him for 
more than a fraction of a second, some other Hun 
has a chance to get a steady shot at you, without 



214 WINGED WARFARE 

taking any risks himself. To hit a machine when 
it is flying at right angles to you across your nose 
is very hard. It requires a good deal of judg- 
ment in knowing just how far ahead of him to 
aim. It is necessary to hit the pilot himself and 
not the machine to be successful, and also neces- 
sary to hit the pilot in the upper part of the body 
where it will be more certain to put him complete- 
ly out of action at once. When a machine goes 
into flames it is largely a matter of luck, as it 
means that several of your bullets have pierced 
the petrol tank and ignited the vapour escaping 
from it. 

In our tactics we used this cross shot, as it is 
called, considerably ; mainly when, after a combat 
has been broken off for some reason, guns hav- 
ing jammed or the engine running badly, it be- 
comes necessary to escape. Upon turning to flee, 
your opponent is able to get a direct shot at you 
from behind. This is decidedly dangerous; so, 
watching carefully over your shoulder and judg- 
ing the moment he will open fire, you turn your 
machine quickly so as to fly at right angles to 
him, his bullets will generally pass behind you 
during the manoeuvre. The next thing to do is 
to turn facing him and open with your cross fire. 

In fighting in company with other machines of 
your own squadron one must be very careful to 
avoid collisions, and it is also necessary to watch 



WINGED WARFARE 215 

all of them carefully as well as the enemy, be- 
cause it is a code of honour to help out any com- 
rade who is in distress, and no matter how serious 
the consequences may seem, there is only one 
thing to do — dash straight in, and at least lend 
moral support to him. In one case I had a Cap- 
tain out of my own squadron, a New Zealander, 
come eight miles across the lines after both his 
guns had choked, and he was entirely useless as 
a fighting unit, just to try and bluff away seven 
of the enemy who were attacking me. It was un- 
necessary in this case as I had the upper hand of 
the few machines that were really serious about 
the fight, but it was a tremendously brare act on 
his part, as he ran tremendous risks of being 
killed, while absolutely helpless to defend himself 
in any way. 

All fights vary slightly in the tactics required, 
and it is necessary to think quickly and act in- 
stantly. Where a large number of machines are 
engaged, one great thing is always to be the up- 
per man, that is to be slightly higher than your 
particular opponent. With this extra height it 
is quite easy to dive upon him and it makes ma- 
noeuvring much easier. If, as is often the case, 
you are the "under dog," it is a very difficult posi- 
tion, and requires great care to carry on the fight 
with any chance of success. Every time your op- 



216 WINGED WARFARE 

ponent attempts to dive at you, or attack you in 
any way, the best thing to do is to turn on him, 
pull the nose of your machine up and fire. Often 
while fighting it is necessary to attack a machine 
head on until you seem to be just about to crash 
in mid-air. Neither machine wants to give way, 
and collisions have been known to occur while 
doing this. We prided ourselves that we hardly 
ever gave way, and the German was usually the 
first to swerve. At the last moment one of you 
must dodge up and the other down, and there is 
great risk of both of you doing the same thing, 
which, of course, is fatal. It is perhaps one of the 
most thrilling moments in fighting in the air 
when you are only 100 yards apart, and coming 
together at colossal speed, spouting bullets at 
each other as fast as you can. 

Once you have passed you must turn instantly 
to keep your opponent from getting a favourable 
position behind you, and then carry on the fight 
in the usual series of turns and manoeuvres. An 
extraordinary feature of these fights which oc- 
cupied any length of time, and entailed such ma- 
noeuvring, was the fact that they were generally 
undecisive, one machine or the other finally de- 
ciding that for some reason or other it must quit 
and make good its escape. In nearly all cases 
where machines have been downed, it was during 



WINGED WARFARE 217 



a fight which had been very short, and the suc- 
cessful burst of fire had occurred within the space 
of a minute after the beginning of actual hostili- 
ties. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

ANEW kind of enemy was meeting us now 
— a two-seater machine which mounted a 
small cannon, or shell-firing gun. This was a sort 
of "pom-pom" gun, discharging about a one- 
pound shell, which would either burst upon per- 
cussion, or after travelling a certain distance 
through the air. Several times, while attacking 
machines doing artillery work, we were surprised 
to see little white puffs around us, and realised 
suddenly that these were small bursting shells. 
However, they did no harm that I know of, and 
the Huns did not seem to be able to make even 
decent shooting with them. The first two or three 
times we met up with them they rather frightened 
us, and we kept away from their field of fire, but 
after a little bit of experience we found there was 
nothing to worry about. Their shooting was so 
bad the shells invariably burst well to one side. 
Personally, I much preferred "pom-pom" to the 
wicked rattle of a pair of machine-guns pointing 
at me, and the streaks of their smoking bullets 
whining by. 

Day after day we chased these machines away 

219 



220 WINGED WARFARE 

from their work, only to have to go out an hour 
later and chase them again. Sometimes we would 
force them right down to the ground, and that 
would often finish them for the day, but it was 
very seldom that anything decisive occurred. 

On the 24th of June in the early morning, 
while leading a patrol, I ran into a German pilot 
of exceptional quality. Another fighting patrol 
of ours had been attacking him, when I saw him, 
and I headed in their direction to watch the fight, 
but they evidently had had enough of it, and 
left him. We, in our turn, took him on, and there 
followed an extremely hot engagement. He 
managed to get into the middle of us, and it was 
all we could do to keep from colliding, as we at- 
tacked him. Finally, to add to our disgust, he 
broke off the combat of his own sweet will just 
at the moment he felt he had had enough, and 
dived away. As we followed, diving after him, 
he would turn under us, then dive again, and re- 
peat this performance. It was a most trying 
thing. I would dive after him, then the moment 
I stopped firing and pulled up to turn and watch 
where he went, I would probably just miss by 
inches one of our own machines, also diving at 
him, with his eyes on nothing but the enemy. The 
danger of collision in such an attack is very great, 
and requires a constant lookout. 

Later in the morning I went out again, alone, 



WINGED WARFARE 221 

and saw two enemy scouts. I climbed up above 
them, and watched carefully, deciding that I 
would take no chances of losing them. Finally 
I discovered that they were patrolling a given 
beat, and by waiting up above, at one end of this 
beat, I was able, just at the nioment that they 
turned to go back along it again, to dive down, 
approaching them from behind, and come up 
behind the rear one without him seeing me. I 
got within twenty yards of him, and just slightly 
underneath and behind, I pulled the nose of my 
machine up, and with very careful aim opened 
fire. A second later and his machine smoked a 
bit, then suddenly burst into flames and fell 
toward the ground. The other one had dived 
away from me at first, but now climbed back to 
attack me. I dived at him twice, and opened fire 
both times, but without result. The second time 
I think he was hit, but not seriously, as he dived 
away and escaped, going through the clouds. 

Not long after that I met three more of the 
enemy, and had a funny fight with them, by wor- 
rying them from above. In the course of a num- 
ber of short dives, I suddenly ran out of ammu- 
nition. They had seemed, up to this moment, 
quite keen to fight, and so was I, but now I de- 
cided I must get away somehow. I was some- 
what surprised when I discovered that at the same 
moment I commenced to escape, they also did. 



222 WINGED WARFARE 

We both noticed at the same time that the other 
side was willing to break it off, and as the Hun 
turned to attack me from behind, while I was es- 
caping, I turned to try to bluff him away. It 
worked perfectly, and the whole three of them 
again turned their noses east and flew away. It 
had been some time since I had brought down an 
enemy machine, and I hoped the one in flames this 
day would change my luck for the better again. 
I think it did, for in the week which followed, I 
brought down five in all. 

Victory flew with me the following day when 
I managed to get two more scouts on my list. 
While flying alone, I saw three of them, protect- 
ing a two-seater. They were very intent upon 
watching their charge and had not noticed me, 
so I flew away some distance and climbed well 
above them, to make certain they had no ma- 
chines in layer formation above. Then I dived 
on the three scouts. Again I surprised the rear 
man, and after twenty-five rounds, well placed, 
he burst into flames and went down. The other 
two were at the moment turning towards me, but 
upon seeing the fate of their comrade, one of 
them dived away and went down near the two- 
seater. The other one turned to engage me. In 
the short fight that followed, he got some bullets 
very close to me, and I to him, but three or four 
minutes neither of us seemed able to get an ap- 



WINGED WARFARE 22S 

preciable advantage of the other. Then, sud- 
denly I managed to get a chance from an angle 
I knew very well, and opened fire. He immedi- 
ately dropped out of control, and I dived after 
him, firing as he fell. Having finished one drum 
of ammunition I had to come out of the dive to 
put a new one on. The other scout and two- 
seater, were still in the same place, so getting 
above them I tried two dives, but without result. 
The observer on the two-seater was doing re- 
markably good shooting, and I did not like to 
get too close, as it seemed a poor way to end a 
morning's work, by being shot down after start- 
ing so well. Finishing my ammunition at fairly 
long range, I returned home. 

My luck still held the next day when I found 
some more scouts, in straggling formation. The 
rear one was slightly above the rest, which was 
very much to my liking, so down I went after 
him. Again the surprise was successful, and, af- 
ter a short burst, out of control he went. I was 
getting quite callous in doing this, and was afraid 
of myself becoming careless. The only danger 
I ran was in the fact that I might become care- 
less, and if caught while creeping up behind these 
people, and they had a chance to turn on me, it 
would be a very unhappy position to be in. How- 
ever, this time it was as successful as the rest, and 
as two more scouts who were next highest 



224 WINGED WARFARE 

seemed willing to fight, I went down after them. 
As I approached, one of the two lost his nerve 
and dived away. The other made a turn to come 
at me, but I opened fire with rough aim while 
still a hundred yards away. It was a purely lucky 
shot, and one of my bullets must have ac- 
cidentally hit an important wire in his machine, 
as suddenly, while doing an exceedingly quick 
turn, two of his planes flew away, and his ma- 
chine fell in pieces. 

I did not have any more luck for several days, 
most of my fights being in the usual job of chas- 
ing away artillery machines ; taking all the risks, 
and never having a chance to get in a decent shot. 

A few days later, while out in the morning, 
thick clouds prevented our seeing very much. 
Several times, while going around or under the 
clouds, I would suddenly catch sight of an enemy 
machine, then lose it again a moment or two 
later. Once I saw a scout about 300 yards away, 
but he immediately dived toward some clouds, 
and I could only open fire from long range in 
the hope of frightening him down. Meeting up 
with one of my own squadron, who was also fly- 
ing alone, a few minutes later, we discovered a 
machine directly underneath us. Down we both 
went at him, and opened fire, but he also disap- 
peared into a cloud, and we flew away. Five 
minutes later he again appeared beneath us. 



WINGED WARFARE 225 

Down at him we went but again he dug himself 
into the clouds. 

After each fight it would be necessary to make 
certain where you were, as a strong wind from 
the west kept blowing the machines in toward 
Hunland. I had five fights in the course of the 
morning, but none of them was successful, or 
very exciting. 

The next day at noon, however, I had enough 
excitement to last me for some time. .While on 
patrol and flying nearly three miles up, I saw 
approaching us from the direction of Germany a 
fast Hun two-seater of the enemy. I guessed at 
once he thought to cross our lines, and flew to at- 
tack him. He had seen us, however, and headed 
in the other direction immediately. I found I 
could not catch up with him, so, in great disgust 
gave up the chase ; then, on thinking it over, de- 
cided that if he had orders to cross the lines he 
would probably make another attempt. So I flew 
well off to one side and climbed as fast as I could. 
I could just see him — a speck in the distance — 
and could see that he also was climbing. Finally, 
when he reached what he surmised was a safe 
height he approached our lines again. I did not 
make another attempt to stop him, hoping that 
he would get well across, and then I would come 
between him and his own country. He saw me 
attempt to do this, and evidently hoped to evade 



226 WINGED WARFARE 

me by climbing up still higher. Eighteen thou- 
sand feet was reached, and we were still climbing 
at about the same pace. He went well into our 
territory, and I followed at a great distance, 
watching carefully. Then, the moment he started 
for home, went after him. At 19,500 feet we 
approached each other. I opened fire while 
coming head on at him. He swerved slightly, 
and in doing so upset my aim. If we had been 
lower, I would certainly have hit him, but the 
great height and great cold had made my hand 
numb and a little unsteady in controlling the 
machine. He flew across, in front of me, and I 
turned with him to get in another shot. His ob- 
server's face I could make out, as he was firing 
his gun frantically at me. We passed only about 
ten yards apart, yet I was shooting so badly I 
did not bring him down. Then, in holding the 
nose of my machine up, to get a last shot at him, 
I lost too much speed, and suddenly fell several 
thousand feet completely out of control. By the 
time I had straightened out the enemy had es- 
caped, and, in disgust, I rejoined the rest of the 
patrol, and continued to fly up and down the 
lines. 

Just as we intended returning, I saw five of 
the enemy some distance away, and underneath 
us, so flew over and engaged them from above. 
The fight was at 7,000 feet, the height I liked the 



WINGED WARFARE 227 

best, so I went into it vigorously. Suddenly, 
while diving on a Hun machine, I heard the rat- 
tle of a pair of machine-guns just behind me. I 
was certain that I had been trapped and was being 
fired at from a few feet behind me, so turned 
quickly, just to see one of our own machines shoot 
by underneath me. I continued my dive again* 
but the opportunity was lost, so went down after 
another one of the machines. For ten minutes 
this fight continued. Many times I would dive 
down, open fire, and then come up and turn away, 
at the same time avoiding others of our machines 
which were diving and firing as they came. At 
last I was successful. One of the Germans 
seemed to be enjoying the fight, and had the im- 
pudence to loop directly under me. I happened 
to be diving just as he reached the top of the 
loop, and as he was coming out of it I got a direct 
shot on to the bottom of his machine, as it was 
turned upside down. He fell out of control, and 
crashed on the ground underneath us. 

Another machine had now joined the fight — a 
machine from one of our naval squadrons sta- 
tioned in France, and he also was doing very well 
as I saw a machine which he fired at, fall out of 
control. Then suddenly, the remainder of the 
Germans — they had been reinforced by others — 
turned away, and escaped, flying very near the 
ground. We returned home, and I waved to our 



228 WINGED WARFARE 

new acquaintance from the naval squadron, so 
he followed me back to the aerodrome and landed 
beside me, to tell me that he had also seen my ma- 
chine crash. It turned out that this man was the 
one who was leading the naval flyers and was 
next to me, at that time, in the number of ma- 
chines which had been brought down by an Eng- 
lishman then in France. It was his twenty-fifth 
machine. 



CHAPTER XIX 

WE were greatly excited now over the fact 
that in a few weeks we expected to have 
a new type of machine — a much faster and better 
one all around. It also had two guns instead of 
one, which made a great difference — so night and 
day we dreamt and thought of these new ma- 
chines, and the time we would have when they 
arrived. 

The next week was a quiet one, only a few 
Huns being seen, and the engagements we had 
were short ones, at long ranges. But on the eve- 
ning of the 10th of July, we had a most interest- 
ing time. The day had been very cloudy, and 
there had been no flying. In the afternoon two 
of us went off in a car to pick up some friends 
and bring them back to the aerodrome in the eve- 
ning. This was the day that Rachel was first 
found and brought to be a member of our squad- 
ron. My flight was detailed for a job at seven 
o'clock that evening, but when that time arrived, 
the clouds were so low we decided it would not 
be worth while going up, so all roamed down to 
the tennis court. The weather became a bit 

229 



230 WINGED WARFARE 

clearer when we had just finished three or four 
games of a set. It was part of a tournament we 
were playing, and quite an interesting game was 
on when suddenly a messenger came down with 
the news that six machines were to leave the 
ground. We all ran to our machines. We were 
still in our white flannels, and dressed more for 
comfort than a fight in the air. There was no 
time to change, however, so into the machines we 
crawled, and started aloft. The Major, decid- 
ing there must be some excitement in the air, oth- 
erwise we would not have been sent out, decided 
to follow us. 

Tw r enty minutes after we had been told on the 
tennis court that a job was on hand, we sighted 
some Huns flying slightly above us. It was now 
a wonderful evening, everything clear as crystal, 
and one could not but feel that such a thing as a 
German should not be allowed in the sky, to spoil 
the beauty of the dying day. So, regardless of 
position or tactics of any kind, I led straight into 
the German formation. They were evidently a 
new squadron on that part of the front. They 
were flying machines of a bright green — machines 
which I had never seen before. However, they 
were no more courageous than most of their com- 
rades, and when they saw us coming, although 
they had every advantage, they turned to go the 
other way. We cut them off, and managed to 



WINGED WARFARE 231 

come in partly underneath them. There were 
twelve of them and seven of us, counting the Ma- 
jor, who had followed us into the fight, and a 
merry mix-up began at once. Several times I 
became entirely separated from the rest, and was 
in a very dangerous position. Once, after chas- 
ing one of the Huns for a moment, I turned to 
find another one coming down directly at me, so 
I pulled up my nose to fire straight atShim. The 
same moment, a third Hun came diving at me 
from the side. He had an excellent shot, and 
knowing I could not shoot at him at the moment, 
on he came. I felt I was certainly in a very tight 
corner, when suddenly, with a flash of silver 
above me, and the rattle of a machine gun, I saw 
my major's machine go dead at the German. It 
was a wonderful sight. The Hun quickly turned 
away, and at the same time the other man who 
was attacking me, turned also. I then lost sight 
of the Major, but continued in the whirlwind of 
the fight. Round and round each other the whole 
lot of us went, like a lot of sparrows in a great 
whirlwind. Suddenly one of the Germans ap- 
peared just in front of me, and I opened fire dead 
at him. Down he went out of control, and I 
turned to engage some more, but after a few 
minutes, they all dived away. 

The people at home on the aerodrome were 
now having a most exciting time. A little over 



232 WINGED WARFARE 

half an hour after the patrol had left the ground, 
they saw a silver Nieuport come streaking home. 
It landed, and they could see by the number that 
it was the Major's machine. They went up to 
him, and he quietly crawled out and spoke to the 
people around him, saying that there was a big 
fight on over the lines, and we were all in the 
middle of it. He then turned and walked to the 
office, where he telephoned to report that he had 
been in a fight. Then, sending for the medical 
orderly, informed him he had a "scratch." 

The medical orderly almost fainted when he 
saw blood pouring down the Major's sleeve. It 
turned out that when he had been diving to save 
me, a chance bullet from one of the Huns, who 
was sitting safely at the edge of the fight, had 
struck his machine, actually hitting the switch, 
where it exploded, one fragment of it entering his 
fore-arm and going right up above the elbow. 
It made a very nasty wound indeed. The bullet, 
as well as smashing the switch and his arm, had 
done other damage, destroying several instru- 
ments, and breaking an oil indicator. The mo- 
ment he realised that he had been hit, the Major 
carefully set about with his other arm to turn off 
the oil and adjust the switch, so that it would 
work properly. It was a delicate job, and all 
the time he was bleeding freely. Then it was 
necessary to get clear of the fight. This, of 



WINGED WARFARE 233 

course, is a difficult thing to do at the best of 
times, but in a case like the Major's it would have 
seemed almost impossible. Luck, however, fa- 
voured him, for at just that moment a chance 
came, and he took it. He slipped away towards 
our lines, and losing height, came toward home. 
The next thing he feared was the fact that he 
might faint in the air from loss of blood, so, ter- 
rified of this, he held his arm over the side in the 
cold air, and that partially stopped the bleeding. 
He then came down and landed. 

The people at home were having a most ex- 
citing time. The sudden leaving of the rest of 
us for a job over the lines, had been quite a dra- 
matic affair, and now as they sat on the ground, 
first appeared one of the machines, back in half 
an hour, with its pilot wounded, then not a sign 
of the rest for what seemed a very long time. 
They wondered if we had all been shot down, or 
what in the world could have happened. How- 
ever, in an hour and a half the rest of us were 
back. We had been looking carefully, in the 
hope that we could find some more of the enemy, 
but had only seen two of them, which we were 
unable to catch up with. We did not know what 
had happened to the Major until we landed, by 
which time, of course, he had gone to the hospital. 
Four days later we were all pleased to see him 
back on the job again, although, of course, un- 



234 WINGED WARFARE 

able to fly. He had been operated on, but to lie 
in bed in a hospital was agony for him, so slip- 
ping away he managed to get back to the aero- 
drome, where he stayed. A few weeks later, un- 
fortunately for us, he was promoted to the rank 
of colonel, and left. The squadron felt very 
badly at his loss for some time, and only the fact 
that the man who took his place was also of the 
same calibre, ever reconciled us to it at all. 

The Huns seemed now to be concentrating a 
lot of flying in the evenings. Every evening 
when we went out, we were certain of a fight, 
and usually a long fight, sometimes lasting as 
long as half an hour, and on one occasion last- 
ing for three quarters of an hour. These fights 
were always referred to as "dog fights," as it 
nearly always meant just dashing in, then out 
again and in again, and never really doing any 
harm, yet always in a terrible sort of mix-up. 

On the 12th of July I was successful in coming 
up behind some Huns and managed to get an- 
other one down — crashed. Then, for several 
days, I had no more luck, although combats were 
numerous. On one occasion I was nearly caught 
in a bad trap, when on following a machine, I 
suddenly saw about twenty more trying to close 
in around me. I left off the chase, and got out 
just in time. 

Almost every evening, we would find well-laid 



WINGED WARFARE 235 

traps set for us, and it required careful manoeu- 
vring and tactics to avoid falling into them. Sev- 
eral times, indeed, we did, and it took a lot of 
trouble to get out safely. Four or five Huns 
would come along, and we would engage them; 
then, while having a "dog fight," suddenly as 
many as fifteen to twenty more would appear 
from all angles, and join in the fight. This thing 
happened every day, and the Huns were evi- 
dently out to get us. They were devoting every 
energy to it, and if the men in the air had been 
as determined as the people on the ground, who 
ordered them to go out, we would have had a 
more difficult time of it. 

One evening, while out, I managed to surprise 
a Hun, and got within fifteen feet of his tail 
plane before I opened fire. Just a few shots, 
and he burst into flames, and fell. His compan- 
ion did not stay, and managed to escape from me, 
diving vertically toward the ground. I shoved 
the nose of my machine down until it was pointing 
vertically as well, opened fire on him as the two 
of us dived, but his was a heavier machine than 
mine, and it fell faster, so he rapidly increased 
the distance between us, with the result that I 
was left behind. Coming out of my dive, I 
headed in a homeward direction. On the way, I 
saw a large "dog fight" going on, as many as 
twenty-five machines being engaged in it. I flew 



236 WINGED WARFARE 

over to the melee as fast as I could reach it, 
afraid as usual that it would be over before I could 
get there, but luck was with me, as I managed 
to catch, on the edge of the fight, an enemy who 
was trying to attack one of our machines. He 
did not see me and was flying straight away, so 
the shot was an easy one, and could not be missed. 
I opened fire, and he fell out of control. Then, 
unable to watch him down, I went on to the other 
combats. Later, some of the other people re- 
ported they had seen him strike the earth, crash 
and burst into flames; so there was not much 
doubt as to his fate. 

This "dog fight" lasted for twenty minutes af- 
ter I had joined it. Several times the only inti- 
mation I had that anyone was firing on me would 
be the streaks of smoke, as some bullets had 
passed near by. Sometimes the shooting would 
be so bad it would be over a hundred yards away ; 
at other times within ten feet of me. But, owing 
to the rapid way in w T hich one manoeuvres during 
such a fight, it was a very difficult thing to hit a 
man. The excitement of the fight, and the fact 
that it is necessary to watch all the time to avoid 
colliding with your friends, does not give one 
time to think of the danger of being hit, and, to 
tell the truth, you don't realise that these little 
streaks of smoke which go by you, are really dead- 
ly bullets. 



WINGED WARFARE 237 

The next day, while out, I tried to surprise 
three of the enemy, but failed, and found it neces- 
sary to engage the top one. I was slightly under 
him, and it was a difficult proposition. How- 
ever, I managed to get as close as fifty yards and 
opened fire. The other two were now so near 
me that I felt it unhealthy to concentrate my at- 
tention altogether on one. For a few minutes, 
then, I had it rather warm. Every time one would 
begin to fire at me, I would switch the nose of 
my machine in his direction and fire a few bul- 
lets at random. This would make him turn away 
for a second. Then I would switch it to another. 
Suddenly an opportunity for escape presented it- 
self. I took it as quickly as it came, and man- 
aged to get clean away. I then flew higher, and 
later found two more of the enemy flying to- 
gether. Again I decided to try a surprise and 
this time was successful. Thirty yards away I 
got my sights well in line with a point on the 
enemy machine which would mean that I was 
going to hit the pilot, and I pulled the trigger. 
A moment later his machine sideslipped, turned 
completely over on its back, and then went down. 
Anxious to make it a double success, I turned to 
catch his comrade, but he had decided to escape, 
and was three hundred yards away. I fired a few 
shots at him, just to hurry him up, and then 
turned to watch the machine I had brought down. 



238 WINGED WARFARE 

It was still falling out of control, and away below 
me I saw it tumbling like a piece of paper thrown 
from a high window. Eventually it disappeared 
through the clouds. 

I did not have any feeling of compunction in 
cases like this. The idea of killing w T as, of course, 
always against my nature, but for two reasons 
I did not mind it; one, and the greatest one, of 
course, being that it was another Hun down, and 
so much more good done in the war. Secondly, 
it was paying back some of the debts I owed the 
Huns for robbing me of the best friends possible. 
Then, too, in the air one did not altogether feel 
the human side of it. As I have said before, it 
was not like killing a man so much as just bring- 
ing down a bird in sport. 

In going into a fight now, I felt none of those 
thrills which I used to feel at first. I was quite 
cool and collected, but probably did not enjoy it 
as much as I did in the days when a certain 
amount of anxiety and fear was felt just before 
the fight started. But the moment my machine- 
gun commenced to fire, I felt the old feeling of 
exultation, and this always remained with me 
throughout the whole of every fight I have had. 



CHAPTER XX 

THE new machines were almost ready now, 
and at any time we were to use them, but 
in the meantime I was working hard with my 
Nieuport. One day at noon, while out alone, I 
came as near being brought down as it was pos- 
sible to be. There were very few machines in 
the sky, and about a thousand feet above some 
clouds I saw three of the Huns. If I had fol- 
lowed my old tactics, I would have carefully gone 
far away and climbed to high above them, then 
come down from that direction, but I suppose 
"familiarity breeds contempt," and I imagine I 
was getting a little careless. Anyway, I had not 
the patience this time to waste all of those min- 
utes, so I climbed straight up at them. It meant 
that I was going much slower than I would other- 
wise have been, with the dive. They were out of 
a squadron — I could tell by their markings — that 
I had often before attacked, and probably be- 
fore I had seen them, they had seen me. 

They let me come on up underneath them, 
knowing that I would not fire until I was at 
very close range. Then, when I was about 100 

239 



240 WINGED WARFARE 

yards away, and some 100 feet below, the whole 
three of them turned on me. I did not even have 
time to attempt an escape, the whole three were 
diving at me at once, all firing. It was an awk- 
ward moment, so I pulled my machine back and 
fired straight at one of them; then, switching 
quickly, I gave a burst to another. By this time 
the third was down to my level, so turning I 
faced him, and opened fire. He "zoomed" up 
and reached several hundred feet above me, from 
where he dived again. It was a terrible moment, 
and I could not think how to escape, as they had 
the most favourable positions from which to at- 
tack me, and no danger of anybody worrying 
them while they were doing it. 

Then suddenly I realised that the clouds were 
only a thousand feet below me, and even less by 
this time, as I had been losing height, so with a 
kick of my rudder I threw my machine suddenly 
out of control — and let it stay out of control until 
I was enveloped in a soft, white, fleecy cloud. 
Here I knew that it was hopeless to try to regain 
control, so I waited. I must have gone through 
the clouds for over a thousand feet — it seemed 
years and years. I was terrified that it might be 
a thick, thick cloud, all the way down to the 
ground. However, suddenly I saw things ap- 
pearing, and underneath me was the ground. I 
was in a spinning nose dive, but it was easy to 



WINGED WARFARE 241 

recover control and I flattened away and flew 
straight back to the aerodrome. It was a lesson 
to me, and, strange to say, the last occasion upon 
which I had a good opportunity to try that stunt, 
as a few days later we went on to the new ma- 
chines. 

When our first job on the new machines came, 
it was a great moment for me. I felt that at last 
the time had arrived when I could really do some 
good work, so went after it with my heart alto- 
gether in it. 

On our first job, we were told we must not 
cross the lines — only just stay on them, and chase 
anything away. You can imagine how pleased 
I was, after carefully getting up to the required 
height, and feeling this wonderful, new high- 
powered machine under me, to suddenly see an 
enemy machine on our side. I gave chase but it 
slipped across the lines when I was only half a 
mile away. You can imagine how annoyed I was 
to be unable to follow it. 

To get on these new machines, after the old 
ones, made one feel that all you had to do was 
to open fire on any old enemy at all — just get 
near enough to him to do that — and he was bound 
to be yours. As a matter of fact, it was almost 
that easy, and the strenuous days of fighting that 
I had experienced on a Nieuport were really 



242 WINGED WARFARE 

gone. The new job was much less of work, and 
much more of pleasure. 

Then my disgust was great, when the weather 
became bad, and stayed that way for three days. 
However, by this time I had been able to get my 
machine into better order, and was keener for a 
fight than I had ever been before. 

I went out alone, as soon as the weather was 
fit, and after patrolling over the enemy territory 
for several hours I saw one two-seater at a tre- 
mendous height. I could not get quite up to him, 
but when a thousand feet underneath, I pulled 
my machine back until it pointed straight up, 
and fired that way. I did this twice, but both 
times failed to do any damage. We had then 
reached so far into enemy territory, that I 
thought it advisable to return home, so turned 
and came back. The anti-aircraft fire seemed 
to be absolutely nothing to worry about, com- 
pared to what it had been in the slower machine. 
We were twenty-five miles an hour faster, and 
it made a great difference. The shells seemed 
to all burst behind me, and far away. I felt that 
all the risk had gone, and that I was now in for 
a real good time in France. 

On the 28th of the month, I went out in the 
evening to do a patrol, just on the German side 
of the lines. Faithfully I stayed at this place 
for over an hour, but then it became more than 



WINGED WARFARE 243 

I could stand, as there was not a single German 
machine in sight. I decided to take a look in 
Hunland. I flew about fifteen miles in before I 
saw a single German, and then, well off to one 
side, there were three of them. I did not care 
whether they had seen me or not ; all I wanted to 
do was to get right into the middle of them and 
mix it up, so I came straight at them. They had 
seen me, however, and one, detaching himself 
from the rest, came in my direction. He came 
straight at me, and we approached head on, both 
of us with our engines in front, and both firing 
two guns. I could see his bullets streaking by 
about five feet to the left of me, and mine, as I 
watched them through my sights, seemed to be 
making better shooting. He suddenly swerved, 
but I managed to get into a favourable position 
behind him, in the course of one or two turns, and 
again opened fire. This time I was altogether 
successful, as his machine suddenly burst into 
flames. The others had kept well away, and were 
now escaping as fast as they could. I did my best 
to catch one up, and if we had only been a little 
higher would have done so, but I felt I was get- 
ting too close to the ground that distance behind 
the lines, so opening fire from long range, I shot 
away about 100 rounds, then turned and headed 
toward home. It was my first Hun shot down in 



244 WINGED WARFARE 

this new type of machine, and the first in the 
squadron. 

Late one evening I went out again in a Nieu- 
port, and got mixed up in a bad "dog fight." It 
lasted for three quarters of an hour, and during 
that whole time I don't think fifteen seconds went 
by that I did not have to turn my machine sharply 
in one direction or another, or do some other 
manoeuvre. 

♦While engaging a few machines at the top of 
the fight, I saw underneath me a Nieuport, evi- 
dently in difficulty in the middle of a lot of Huns, 
so with one other of my squadron I started down 
to him, fighting all the way and striving for noth- 
ing but to frighten the Huns off, in order that 
we could get there in time to help our man. He 
seemed to be fighting very well, as his machine 
was turning around to the left, banking verti- 
cally, and turning very quickly. At 12,000 feet 
we started this, but by the time we bad reached 
him he was 500 feet from the ground. I had long 
ago wondered what was the matter, as he was 
going down almost as fast as we could come down 
to him. I could not understand why he did not 
see us, and in some way realise that if he stayed 
there a moment we would be down to help him, 
but instead his machine kept turning, doing a 
left hand spiral, and going down rapidly. At one 
thousand feet from him we managed to frighten 



WINGED WARFARE 245 

away the two Huns, who were both engaging 
him. Then, turning to clear the fight, I looked 
over my shoulder to see if he was following; but 
no — he was still in the spiral. I was afraid, for 
the moment, that he thought I was another Hun, 
so went off to one side for a bit, but he continued 
spiralling, and realising that something was very 
wrong, I flew back toward him. 

Just at that moment his machine spiralled 
straight into the ground, a few hundred feet un- 
derneath me. I made two or three turns over 
the spot, regardless of the fight above me, to de- 
termine whether or not he had been badly hurt, 
but could not see. I expected, every moment, 
some people to come running up and work at the 
smashed machine to get him out, but no sign of 
anybody moving. The other Nieuport, that had 
come down with me, was lower than I was, and 
the idea seemed to come to both of us, as the 
country seemed smooth enough, to land and see 
what was wrong. We both thought we were 
well this side of our own lines, as the trenches 
could be seen about three quarters of a mile to 
the east of us. Picking out a smooth piece of 
ground just near the smashed machine, I came 
down to glide on to it. Then, hearing the crackle 
of rifles and machine-guns around, I put my en- 
gine on again and turned away, cursing the peo- 
ple on the ground for firing at me, thinking all 



246 WINGED WARFARE 

the time it was our own troops making a mistake. 
I had now come down to a height of several hun- 
dred feet, and suddenly saw German uniforms 
in a small hollow in the ground, underneath me. 
It was a narrow escape, as both of us might have 
landed there and quietly been taken prisoners, 
without ever having a chance to escape. 

A few days later I learned that in this particu- 
lar place, the people holding the line were not in 
trenches, but in outposts, practically in the open 
field, and the line of trenches behind them was the 
Hindenburg line, where the Germans evidently 
intended retreating, when necessary. 

Almost every one of my fights in the new ma- 
chine were successful. Three of us went out early 
one Sunday morning, when the sun, shining from 
the east on a thick ground mist, made it very 
difficult to see. Clouds were also in the sky, mak- 
ing it impossible to go above seven thousand feet. 
Our new type of machines were evidently greatly 
feared by the Germans, as the moment we ap- 
proached the lines, two two-seaters of the enemy, 
while just specks in the distance, were evidently 
signalled to from the ground, for they immedi- 
ately dived straight down, and did not return. 
This happened again fifteen minutes later, when 
we sighted another of the artillery machines. 
They were evidently terrified of this type, and 
would not stay to fight us. 



WINGED WARFARE 247 

Then suddenly I saw four enemy scouts, and 
at the same moment they saw us. They ap- 
proached, evidently with the intention of attack- 
ing us, but when only three hundred yards away 
recognised the machines we were flying, and 
turned away quickly. They had been looking 
for easier prey, and were not very anxious for 
battle. We went after them, though, and owing 
to our superior speed were able to catch up with 
them. Into the middle of them we went, and 
there followed a merry scrap. One of our trio, 
by some misfortune, got mixed up in a bad posi- 
tion, as he was not seen again, and must have 
been shot down. The other man's guns had both 
jammed at the beginning of the fight, and he was 
so furious at this bad luck that for several min- 
utes he stayed in the fight, just to bluff the Huns. 
Then one of them made it a little nasty for him, 
and it was necessary to escape. Back to the lines 
he went, making short dashes of 100 yards every 
now and then, two Huns following him all the 
way, and firing at him as he went, but owing to 
pure good flying and clever manoeuvring, he was 
able to avoid even having his machine hit. Then, 
on looking back from the lines, he saw the fight 
going on some distance over, and realising that 
I was alone in the middle of it he came back all 
that way, without either of his guns in working 
order. I referred to this in an earlier part of my 



248 WINGED WARFARE 

book, and I still think it one of the bravest deeds 
I have ever heard of, as he had a hard time get- 
ting back to me, and then also in escaping a sec- 
ond time. He returned to the aerodrome, landed, 
had his guns fixed, and immediately hastened out 
again in the hope he would be able to help me. 

I, for my part, was having the time of my life. 
The rattle of my two machine-guns was too much 
for the Huns, altogether. They did not like it 
at all. I was above the whole lot of them, the 
original four having been joined by three others 
now, and they were trying to separate enough so 
that one or two of their number could get to one 
side, then climb up and get on top of me. But 
the moment one of them would begin to go over 
to one side I would begin to climb, until I would 
point my nose in his direction, and flying at won- 
derful speed, shoot across there, opening fire 
with rough aim, and down he would dive under 
the rest. This actually went on for fifteen min- 
utes, during which time another of the enemy 
came along, and seeing only one British machine 
in all those Huns, felt safe in attacking me. I 
opened fire on him with my two guns, and the 
rattle of them again was sufficient. He did not 
even return the fire, but dived down and got un- 
der the other seven. 

After this had gone on about ten minutes, I 
realised that to actually bring them down I must 



WINGED WARFARE 240 

do better shooting, so picking the one which was 
higher than the rest, I concentrated on him and 
got within fifty yards of him, when I opened fire. 
He immediately turned over on his back, righted 
himself, turned over on his back again, and then 
fell completely out of control. The others I was 
unable to get, but continued in the fight in the 
hope that I would be more successful. Out of 
the corner of my eye, I could see a heavy thun- 
der-storm coming up from the direction of the 
aerodrome. I had to keep my mind on this, as I 
realised that it was a matter of judging just how 
long I could keep up the fight before I must 
make a break for it. At last I decided I had 
better go, so after a final survey of my "docile 
children," who seemed to be just sitting under my 
thumb, I picked out the two or three highest 
ones and pointed my nose in their direction, on 
which they dropped down obediently. Then, 
seizing the opportunity, I dashed away and es- 
caped. They must have been very furious in- 
deed and it must have been bad for the morale of 
the German infantrymen and gunners on the 
ground to look up and see one British machine 
on top of all those Huns, holding them absolutely 
under his dominion. I reached the aerodrome 
ten minutes before the thunder-storm broke. 

Bad weather then held again for over a week, 
and it was impossible to fly at all. The evening 



250 WINGED WARFARE 

that if cleared up, I was leading my patrol — all 
of us on the new machines — when I sighted eight 
of the enemy, two miles the other side of the 
lines. It was just a half hour before dark, and 
the light was very bad. I put my engine full 
on, and headed in their direction. My machine 
being slightly faster than the remainder of my 
patrol, I managed to get a bit ahead of them, and 
carefully picking out the leader of the enemy for- 
mation, opened on him. After I had fired about 
twenty rounds, he turned completely around, and 
headed under me. I turned my sights on to an- 
other of his formation, and tried to catch him. 
Then, over my shoulder, I suddenly saw the ma- 
chine I had first fired at, burst into flames in a 
most extraordinary way. It happened quite near 
two of the rest of my patrol, and incidentally 
rather frightened them, as the machine, which 
had been smoking slightly, suddenly burst into 
the whitest flame and fell to the ground, like a 
ball of livid fire. The man had evidently not been 
killed, as the machine was not falling out of con- 
trol, but diving almost vertically toward the 
ground. Several times, out of the corner of my 
eye, I glanced at it as it still fell. Probably it 
was the bad light that made the flames show so 
white, but the glare was seen for twenty miles 
around, by people on the ground. 

I then made an acquaintance, whom I grew to 



WINGED WARFARE 251 

know quite well during the next week or so. It 
was a silver machine, with small black crosses on 
it. The pilot had carefully painted his machine, 
as the silver had been put on to represent the 
scales of a fish, and covered his planes as well as 
the body of his machine. During this fight he 
caused me a lot of worry. Several times I was 
just able to concentrate on one of two others, 
when this flying fish would butt in, and force me 
to a great deal of manoeuvring to escape him. 
Over and over again, while under me, he would 
pull up his nose and open fire. I would then 
point my nose down and open back at him, and 
he would turn away. This was his one weak- 
ness; he would not come head on, so I tried that 
bluff whenever he began to fire at me. 

It was well that I knew this during the fights 
which followed in the next week. In the middle 
of this fight both of my guns suddenly jammed, 
and I could not get them to work. I struggled 
with them, all the time manoeuvring around so 
that I would not be hit myself. One of the en- 
emy, besides the silver man, had noticed that my 
guns would not fire, and the two of them came 
at me, and came right up close on one occasion. 
Just as they did this I managed to get my guns 
to work, and opening fire, sent the second man 
down out of control. Old "Silversides," however, 
had been too wily to even get near the range of 



252 WINGED WARFARE 

my guns, and did nothing but cause me a lot of 
worry. It was getting dark now, and time to 
break off the fight, so I decided to escape. Once 
again the silver fellow came butting in. Every 
time I would turn toward the lines, he would 
come at me and open fire. I would dart across 
his sights, giving him a hard shot, then suddenly 
turn as if I were going to fire at him. He would 
turn the nose of his machine away immediately, 
and I would have a chance to again make a dart 
for the front. In this way. I managed to reach 
the lines, where he left me. I then returned home, 
with two more machines to my credit. 

The next machine I got was the fortieth aero- 
plane I had brought down, and counting my two 
balloons, the forty-second victory to my credit. 
I had gone out in the morning, about half-past 
eight and there did not seem to be many aero- 
planes in the sky. I saw a single-seater some 
distance in toward Germany, and went in after 
him. He was, however, no picnic. The pilot 
was one of the very best. Several times we al- 
most got shots at each other, but never a good 
one. Finally, I opened fire at random, and was 
greatly surprised to see him go into a spinning 
dive, but it looked suspicious, and I watched. A 
little below me he regained control. I dived ver- 
tically after him, but was diving too fast, so shot 
right by him, and he turned away and tried to 



WINGED WARFARE 253 

escape, diving in the opposite direction. I had 
a second dive after him, but he again went into a 
spin, even before I had opened fire, and continued 
spinning straight into the clouds, where I lost 
him. I had the comfort, however, of knowing 
that he was not very happy in that spin, as all 
the time he was going down I was rattling away 
at him with my guns. 

Fifteen minutes later, I brought down that 
fortieth machine. I had seen a two-seater at a 
tremendous height above me, just a speck in the 
sky. I was not sure at the moment whether he 
was British or German, and decided, as there was 
nothing more interesting, to fly in his direction. 
He was about two miles our side of the lines, and 
I imagine now that he was busy taking photo- 
graphs. When I was about a mile away he saw 
me, and headed for home. I was still 2,000 feet 
underneath him, and owing to climbing, was not 
approaching very fast. However, he did the 
thing I wished for most of all; he put his nose 
down to lose height, and gain more speed. I 
was much faster than he was, so I flew level. In 
a few minutes he had reached my level, and was 
still losing height. We were now four or five 
miles inside his own lines, and I was also losing 
height slightly to gain greater speed. Finally I 
managed to get partly into the blind spot under- 
neath his tail, and was rather amused at the ob- 



254 WINGED WARFARE 

server firing away merrily all the time at me, 
even when he could hardly see me. I decided to 
stay there for a minute, in the hope that his gun 
would jam, or something of that sort happen. 
Then I proposed to dash in and finish him off at 
close range. But we travelled on another two 
miles without anything happening, and had now 
come down to 6,000 feet. It was getting too low 
for my liking, and we were too far from home, 
so opening my machine full out I shot in to sev- 
enty-five yards from him, and fired. One burst 
did the trick, and he began falling in every con- 
ceivable sort of way. I rather hoped he would 
go into flames or fall to pieces, but nothing of 
that sort occurred, and finally, in a spinning nose 
dive, he crashed into a field. 

Then I had one of the nastiest times of my 
life; the return trip home. At 6,000 feet I 
started. Every anti-aircraft gun in the neigh- 
bourhood opened fire at me, and they did some 
wonderful shooting that day. Everywhere I 
turned there seemed to be huge shells bursting. 
Several times I heard the little "plank" as they 
hit my machine in some place, and once quite a 
large piece struck a plane. I decided that I 
would lose still more height, in order to come 
home at a tremendous pace, but in my excite- 
ment had forgotten which way the wind was 
blowing, and have later decided that was why I 



WINGED WARFARE 255 

was such an easy mark. I was going straight 
into the teeth of a forty-mile gale, and conse- 
quently my speed was much slower than I 
thought it was. The "Archie" people seemed 
to have gone mad or anxious to use up all the 
ammunition they had in France ; anyway, the air 
was black with bursting shells, and after I had 
finally reached the lines I looked back, and for 
live miles could see a path of black smoke from 
the shells which had been fired at me. They 
must have fired five hundred in all, but luckily I 
was still intact. 

One day, just at this time, I had truly a won- 
derful surprise. It had been a very rainy day, 
and as there was no flying I went over to lunch 
with a cousin of mine, who was stationed only 
three miles away. After luncheon I returned, 
and upon seeing my new squadron commander, 
went up to speak to him. He told me that the 
General in command of the Flying Corps had 
been trying to get me on the telephone, and said 
he wanted to speak to me when I came in. I 
could not imagine why so important a person as 
the General should want to speak to "little me," 
but rang him up. My cup of happiness over- 
flowed when he told me that he wanted to be the 
first to congratulate me upon being awarded the 
Victoria Cross. 



CHAPTER XXI 

1 COULD hardly hold myself down after 
hearing the great news. Walking across the 
aerodrome to the squadron headquarters, which 
was stationed on the other side, I had tea with 
the men there and then came back. The next 
night we had a big celebration in the way of a 
dinner, and managed to collect guests who came 
quite big distances to be there. It was a wonder- 
ful success, lasting until after midnight, and sev- 
eral of our guests remained all night and re- 
turned early the next morning. 

I had a most exciting fight soon after this. The 
Germans seemed to know my machine, which I 
had had specially marked with red, white and 
blue paint, and in nearly every fight I found that 
many attempts were made to trap me. Several 
times I had very narrow escapes in getting away, 
but always managed at the last moment to 
squeeze out of it. 

It was while flying just under the clouds, I 
suspected a trap, as the machine with which I 
was fighting did not seem particularly anxious 
to come to close quarters, so I pulled my machine 

257 



258 WINGED WARFARE 

back and "zoomed" up through the clouds. The 
layer was very thin, and I suddenly emerged in 
blue sky on the upper side, and just as I did so, 
I saw the last of a group of German scouts div- 
ing vertically. A little to one side, there was a 
huge black burst of German high explosive. The 
whole thing was obvious to me at once. The pilot 
under the clouds had led me to this particular 
spot, while the people above had been signalled 
when to dive through to get me. 

My revenge was very sweet, because in the 
heat of the moment, not minding the odds, I 
dived after them. I came out to find them still 
diving in front of me, so being not far from one 
machine, and directly behind it, I opened fire 
with both guns. It did not need careful shoot- 
ing; the man went down, never knowing he was 
hit, continuing his dive straight into the ground. 
I then pulled up and climbed back into the clouds, 
and over them, and got away without even a bul- 
let hole in my machine. 

That same afternoon I had several more fights, 
and ran up against my silver friend again. He 
was a most persistent rascal, although not very 
brave in actual fight, and would never leave me 
alone when I was trying to quit a combat. Sev- 
eral times he followed me right back over our 
own side of the lines, firing every chance he could 
get. But even when he was fairly certain my 



WINGED WARFARE 25ff 

- - - ■ ■ II ■ Bill 

guns were not working, he would not come to 
close quarters, which, however, was probably 
lucky for me. He was not a good shot from long 
range, but the next day he managed to get un- 
derneath one of our machines and shot it about 
quite badly, causing it to return at once and land, 
seriously damaged. 

Several indecisive fights took place about this 
time, much on the same lines as many others I 
have described ; each one as exciting as the others, 
but much the same story, both sides ending by 
breaking off the combats and returning. Several 
times we lost pilots, and also several times others 
of the squadron shot down enemy machines. 

The weather was very bad for some time after 
this, and although we prayed and prayed for just 
a few days to get a chance to fight, each morning 
would find us more restless and worked up be- 
cause there did not seem to be a chance to get into 
the air at all. 

I was especially keen at this time to fly every 
moment that was possible, because I had learned 
a few days before, that I would likely be returned 
to England shortly, for a job there of some sort. 
I was not at all keen on this, but being a soldier 
it was not, of course, my opinion that counted, 
and my work was simply to do as I was told, and 
to go where I was sent. 

One evening I fell into a very nasty trap in- 



260 WINGED WARFARE 

deed, just at dusk. I had suddenly seen a single 
machine of the enemy in front of me, and slightly 
below. It seemed too good to be true, and I 
should have known that there was something 
funny about it ; however, down I went on top of 
him, but somehow missed with my first burst of 
fire. He dived away a bit and I kept on after 
him, but by continually diving he kept just out 
of my reach. This started at ten thousand feet 
down, and I finally found myself at two thousand, 
and well in the enemy territory. Then, at last 
I suspected a trap, and looked about to see what 
was likely to happen. Sure enough, from above 
enemy machines were coming down after me, so 
I turned toward my own lines. There in front of 
me were twelve more of the Huns. This left 
nothing to do but turn back and fly further into 
enemy territory. This I did, losing height so as 
to increase my speed. Along I went, with the 
whole swarm behind. It was lucky for me that 
my machine was so much faster than theirs. I 
had to zig-zag in my course until I was at least 
four hundred yards in the lead of their first ma- 
chine, then I flew straight. Dusk was coming on 
and I was late, and worried as to what to do. 

However, there was no advantage in giving in, 
so I went on as fast as I could tear. I was ter- 
rified that I would meet another patrol, but after 
I had gone about twenty miles straight east, I 



WINGED WARFARE 261 

realised the chance for that was very slight, and 
this comforted me a great deal. But I was still 
worried as to how I was to get home, as I knew 
they would wait higher up for me if I climbed. 
As dusk settled down, I managed to shake off 
the pack and get completely out of their sight. 
Then I climbed steadily and turned back toward 
our own lines. It was light in the upper sky, but 
quite dark near the ground, and I was at least 
thirty miles over the German lines. I was never 
so mad in my life, the annoying part being that 
such a simple little trick had fooled me into get- 
ting into such a nasty position. I had to fly by 
compass in the approximate direction of home 
and just as I reached the lines sighted a light- 
house which I knew, flashing in the dusk. I was 
happy then and able to land in the last five min- 
utes of light. If I had been just that much 
later, it would have meant a bad crash landing, 
for I would have had no idea as to the exact spot 
where the aerodrome was ; but luck was with me 
still, and I came down without even straining 
a wire of my machine. 

I was disgusted with myself, as it was a bad 
show, taken all around, and so mad that I would 
not hand in a report to tell the shameful tale on 
me. 

The day that I learned I was likely to return to 
England I went out in the evening, and in a very 



262 WINGED WARFARE 

short space of time crammed in a lot of excite- 
ment. Flying around beneath the clouds, I had 
been unable for a time to find anything to fight. 
There was a complete layer of clouds all over the 
sky, and this made flying in enemy territory very 
difficult. The dark sky was such a good back- 
ground the anti-aircraft guns could pick you out 
with great accuracy. I forgot about such trou- 
bles quickly when I saw several of the enemy 
some five miles on their side of the lines. Want- 
ing to surprise them, I climbed up to the clouds 
and then through them. At first I went into 
what seemed a very sullen cloud, with dark grey 
and heavy mist all about me, the view being lim- 
ited to a space of ten feet. As I climbed higher 
up, the colour grew lighter and lighter until at 
last above me was nothing but blue sky and sun- 
shine. The top of the clouds was as flat as a 
table. It looked as if one could land on it and sit 
there all day. 

I kept flying along, carefully watching my 
compass to get the correct direction, also gazing 
at the beautiful cloud pictures around me, when 
suddenly, just above, I heard the old wicked rat- 
tle of a pair of machine-guns. Pulling up, I 
looked about and saw coming down straight on 
me from in front, three enemy scouts. The lead- 
er, to my great joy, I recognised as the man who 
had trapped me so badly in the fight just told of. 



WINGED WARFARE 263 

He was well ahead of the other two who were 
trailing behind him, and I knew if I could only- 
shoot well, I would have a chance to get him with- 
out being worried by the others, until they could 
reach the fight. On we came, head on, both fir- 
ing as fast as we could. I saw his smoking bul- 
lets going streaking by about four feet above my 
head, and what annoyed me a bit was the fact 
that they were passing that spot in a well con- 
centrated group, showing that he had his shooting 
well in hand, and was quite cool. I have never 
fired with more care in my life. I took sight on 
the engine of his machine, knowing, if I hit it, 
some of the bullets would slide along its edge 
and get the pilot, who was just behind. On we 
came toward each other, at tremendous speed. 
I could see my bullets hitting his machine, and 
at the same instant his bullets scattered badly, so 
it was obvious he had become nervous, and was 
not shooting as well as before. Suddenly he 
swerved, and tried to pass slightly to my left. 
I kept going straight at him, firing both guns. 
My bullets were all around the pilot's seat now, 
and seemed to be hitting him. The next machine 
had come in now, firing at me, and too near for 
me to turn after the first one, so I turned toward 
the second Hun. My third opponent did not like 
the look of the fight, and kept well off to one 



264 WINGED WARFARE 

side, diving away to escape, a few seconds later. 
I looked over my shoulder to see what was hap- 
pening to the first man, and was overjoyed to see 
his machine a mass of flames and smoke, just 
commencing to fall. The second man I ma- 
noeuvred with, doing almost two complete turns 
before being able to get in the shot I wanted. 
Then there was no trouble at all. With the first 
round, he also burst into flames, and fell, follow- 
ing the other through the clouds. I looked for 
the third man, who had just dived away, anxious 
to wipe out the whole crowd. I dived after him. 
Down through the clouds we plunged and emerg- 
ing I saw he was well out of my reach. So I 
turned to watch my two victims. They were both 
falling within a thousand feet of each other, two 
flaming masses, crashing in death to the earth. 
In a few days I was to go on another leave to 
England, so I put in every moment that I could 
in the air, trying to increase the number of ma- 
chines to my credit. In this way, one evening, I 
came upon three, and managed to surprise them 
in the old way that I had done so often when I 
was flying a Nieuport. I dived on the rear and 
highest one, but found I did not have the pa- 
tience to crawl up to my usual range. Two guns 
hardly made it necessary as before, so I opened 
fire at a little over a hundred yards. As in the 




A GERMAN GAS-ATTACK 

Photographed from the air. Gas clouds can be seen close to the ground drifting 

across country. 



WINGED WARFARE 265 

old days, there was no second stage to it at all; 
down he went completely out of control, and I 
stayed above, the other two having escaped, and 
watched him falling eight thousand feet. 

This was my forty-fifth victory, and the next 
day I had my forty-sixth and forty-seventh, in 
two* fights shortly following one another. 

It was the evening before I was to leave for 
England, and to my great disgust, I had been) 
unable to catch sight of a single German. So I 
flew north to watch a Canadian attack at Lens. 
There was a great battle going on, and for fif- 
teen minutes I watched it raging. Then, chanc- 
ing to look up above me, I saw a two-seater of 
the enemy, coming toward our lines. It really 
seemed to be just a godsend, so I went straight 
at him almost head on; that is, coming up slightly 
from below, but in front of him. I fired at him 
as I came, and as no result appeared, when I was 
one hundred yards away, I dived and came up, 
pointing my nose straight up into the sky, as he 
flew across over me. Then I fired again. Sud- 
denly the planes on one side of the Hun appeared 
to break and fall back, then to sweep away en- 
tirely, and the machine fell in fragments. It was 
not a nice sight. I had evidently hit the machine 
in a lucky place, which had caused it to break, 
but in all probability the occupants were still 



266 WINGED WARFARE 

alive. However, it was not for me to pity them, 
at that stage of the game, and I could not put 
them out of their misery, so I remained above and 
watched them fall. 

Two scouts had appeared just before I at- 
tacked this two-seater, but when I went toward 
them they had flown away. A minute later I saw 
them flying toward me. They did not want to 
fight, though, and turned away, heading in an 
easterly direction. The range was too far for me 
to open fire, so I chased them a bit, a distance of 
about two miles. They managed to keep three 
hundred yards away and as the wind was blowing 
me into Germany at the rate of sixty miles an 
hour, besides my own speed, I decided it was not 
worth while. Before leaving off the chase I 
thought I might as well send a few shots after 
them, as it might be my last chance to fight in 
France. I took very careful aim on the rear ma- 
chine and opened fire. The Hun suddenly went 
into a spinning nose dive, and fell toward the 
earth. I did not think for a moment I had hit 
him at that range, but watched to see just what 
game the German was playing. Down he went 
all the way from thirteen thousand feet to the 
ground, and crashed — a complete wreck. A lucky 
bullet must have hit the pilot and killed him in- 
stantly. It was indeed my last fight in France, 



WINGED WARFARE 267 



and the next day I went to England on leave, and 
also to attend an investiture at Buckingham Pal- 
ace, at which I was to receive the whole three of 
my decorations. 



CHAPTER XXII 

WHEN I left the aerodrome to start for 
England, I had a vague feeling I would 
not be back again. I had heard nothing more 
about my transfer, but the very fact that there 
was a great deal of uncertainty made me anxious, 
and I remember when leaving the old place, turn- 
ing around to have a last look at it. I was lucky 
to find a car going all the way to Boulogne that 
day, and with four others, one of whom was going 
back to England for good, we made the trip. On 
the way we stopped off at a village where there 
was a famous farm for French police dogs. We 
spent an interesting hour there, while the French 
lady who owned the dogs showed us all around 
her beautiful place. The dogs were of all ages, 
from two-weeks' old puppies to full French cham- 
pions. .We left there just in time to reach Bou- 
logne for luncheon — my last meal in France, as 
I managed to catch a boat for England at two 
o'clock. 

Eight o'clock that night saw me in London, 
and I was^rtainly glad to get there. At nine 
o'clock I was in the middle of a big dinner, given 

269 



270 WINGED WARFARE 

by several of my friends, after which we went 
to a dance. It seemed years since I had been 
near London, and every sight and every sound 
was joyful to me. A few days later, though, I 
left town and went to the country. 

About this time word came through that I was 
not going back to France. I was very disap- 
pointed. I reported for duty, but was given a 
few weeks more leave in which to rest up. During 
this time I went to the investiture by the King. 
I had, on the previous day, received a telegram 
of instructions, telling me to report at Bucking- 
ham Palace at ten-thirty in the morning dressed 
in service uniform. At ten-ten I was there, not 
wishing to be behind time on such an occasion, 
and realising I had better find out before it hap- 
pened, just what was expected of me. .Walking 
into the Palace I came to a hat-stand, where 
everybody was checking things. I handed in my 
hat, gloves and stick, whereupon I was told to 
hang on to the gloves, wearing one on my left 
hand and carrying the other. Then, following a 
number of other officers, also there to be decorat- 
ed, I came to a room in which a General was 
standing. I asked him where I was to go, and 
he asked me what I was getting. I began the 
long rigmarole of V. C, D. S. O., and M. C, 
but before I had finished he told me to go in with 
the D. S. O.'s, as I was the only V. C. So I 



WINGED WARFARE 271 

slipped away into a room where there were about 
one hundred and fifty other officers. After wait- 
ing there for over half an hour, another General 
came in, and gave us explicit instructions as to 
what to do in the King's presence. It was a ter- 
rible moment for all of us. 

Finally the doors opened and we were headed 
toward the room in which the King was standing 
with his staff. Following some Generals and 
Colonels, who were being admitted to the Order 
of St. Michael and St. George, it came my turn 
to march in. I knew my instructions well. Ten 
yards across to the middle of the room, and then 
a turn to the left and bow. Imagine my conster- 
nation, when, at the first of those ten paces, one 
of my boots began to squeak. Somehow or other 
I managed to get to the proper place, where I 
was facing His Majesty. Here I had to listen 
to an account of my own deeds, read by one of 
the staff, while I myself stood stiffly at attention. 
Then, approaching the King, he hooked three 
medals on my breast. These he had been handed 
on a cushion. He congratulated me upon win- 
ning them, and told me it was the first time he 
had been able to give all three to any one person. 

After a short, one-sided conversation, in which 
my only attempt to speak failed utterly, although 
all I was trying to say was "Yes, sir," he shook 
hands with me, and I bowed and backed away. 



272 WINGED WARFARE 

turning and walking thirty squeaky paces to a 
door in the corner of the room. The moment I 
reached the outside of this door, I thought I had 
been thrown into the arms of a highway robber. 
A man suddenly stepped from one side and be- 
fore I could stop him, had snatched the three glit- 
tering medals off my chest, and was fifteen yards 
ahead of me on the way down the hall, before I 
realised what had happened. I took after him, 
not knowing what to do, but he picked up three 
boxes from a table, put the medals in, and handed 
them back to me. Then he returned to meet the 
next man coming out, who incidentally was a 
great friend of mine, and also in the Flying 
Corps. The next thing to be faced was the crowd 
at the Palace gates, and the photographers. Luck- 
ily, I had a car waiting in the enclosure, and by 
getting into this managed to evade everybody. 

A week later I was promoted to the rank of 
Major, and also learned that I had been awarded 
a bar to my Distinguished Service Order ribbon. 
Good news, like bad luck, never comes singly. 
A few days after that I heard I had been granted 
permission to go home to Canada for a visit. The 
notice was short, but within eighteen hours I had 
made all arrangements, and was on a train to 
catch the boat sailing from Liverpool next day. 
Within two weeks I was home. 

THE END 







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